


Devil in Disguise

by Heartless_Sigyn (Alexis_Rockford)



Series: Devil or Angel: An MCU-Compliant Logyn Continuity [2]
Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Sigyn (Marvel), Banter, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Courtship, Deception, Disguise, Eye Sex, F/M, Flashbacks, Grey-A Sigyn (Marvel), Loki Posing as Odin, Midsummer, Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, POV Loki (Marvel), Scheming Sigyn, Shakespearean Language, Shapeshifter Loki (Marvel), Slow Burn, Surprise Kissing, Trickster Loki (Marvel), Weddings, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-04-18 08:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 55,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14209299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexis_Rockford/pseuds/Heartless_Sigyn
Summary: "The marriage of Sigyn and Loki is a mystery waiting to be revealed." So says the entry on the official Marvel site. Well, wait no longer. Set between the events ofThe Dark WorldandRagnarok, this is my version of the courtship of the God of Mischief and the Goddess of Fidelity. Painstakingly MCU compliant.When Loki finds his charade as the Allfather has become tedious, he hatches a new scheme to ruin the happiness of an old rival. What he doesn't plan on is falling in love in the process...Update: For Sigyn and Loki's first fight as newlyweds, seeLiberty and Virtue.Thank you so much for reading and leaving comments and kudos. I consider this fic mymagnum opusfor the time being and am very proud of the fact that I actually finished it and broke 50k words doing so. I am nowhere near done with this pairing, so don't worry, I will be writing more Logyn soon!Want more Logyn goodness? Listen to theSpotify playlistof the songs that inspired my chapter titles!





	1. I Can't Get No Satisfaction

Disgusting. There was just no other way to describe it. Or maybe there was. Loki being a great reader could probably come up with some other words that meant roughly the same thing. Repellent. Repulsive. Reprehensible. He smiled at the alliteration and then quickly hid his mirth, remembering that he was currently Odin the Allfather, benevolent dictator, who found no amusement in the foolish infatuation of his eldest son.

“I thank you for your report, Heimdall,” he said magnanimously as the Guardian inclined his head in respect to what he believed to be his king. “I am glad that Thor is finding happiness upon the unforeseen path he has chosen. Even if it be . . .with a mortal woman.” The words tasted sour in his mouth, but he tried to hide his negative reaction to the thought of Thor and Jane together.

Heimdall gazed upon the vision of Odin with his unblinking orange eyes. “So it would appear, Allfather. Now, if there is nothing else that you require, I should return to the observatory to greet our returning warriors. Although this tentative peace has me more uneasy than the recent skirmishes.”

Loki quirked an eyebrow then quickly lowered it. Damn. Sometimes it was so hard to hide his cherished mannerisms. “Oh?”

Heimdall shifted his eyes slowly back and forth as if looking for an unseen intruder. “Sometimes, I swear I feel the presence of an unfriendly hostile force.”

“Odin” chuckled a bit nervously. “You worry too much, Heimdall. Malekith and his Dark Elves have been destroyed. The Frost Giants are behaving themselves at present. Our warriors are headed back to Asgard for some well-deserved rest. Even our old enemy, Loki, has gone onto Valhalla after sacrificing his very life for this peace you distrust so much. As long as Thor is thriving, there is nothing more to concern ourselves about.”

Heimdall grunted in grudging agreement and bowed to his sovereign before quitting the splendid throne room.

Loki’s one eye never left him as he exited. As soon as he was certain he was alone, he released the illusion in a ripple of green light. He sighed, standing and stretching out his newly enyouthened limbs. It was tiring having to pretend to be someone else. It was likewise tiring to hear about Thor’s romantic exploits day after day from a powerful being who was becoming more and more suspicious about his out-of-character ruler. Soon, he hoped that the annoying gatekeeper would give him a good reason to convict him of treason and get rid of him as he had during his last brief stint on the throne.

Loki clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace the length of the room. He had finally been released from his year-long imprisonment, yet he still felt like a caged beast. Not even the fulfillment of his lifelong ambition to rule Asgard had helped. Perhaps the strain of constant pretence was the cause, but he doubted it. In fact, he was sure he knew the reason. As he had told his brother recently, satisfaction was not in his nature. He had finally bested Thor, enchanted his father into a stupor of banishment and acquired the throne, and yet he still felt incomplete. He clenched his fists, feeling a familiar tightness in his chest which glowed red-hot. He was surprised to discover that he was still seethingly jealous of his brother. But why? What did he have that Loki couldn’t easily take or get for himself?

Recalling his conversation with Heimdall only moments before, the image of a face came to him. The earth creature his brother loved so much. He scoffed. Mortals were weak and fleeting. He definitely didn’t need one of them in his life, but perhaps....

An array of the various maidens of the realm flashed through his mind. Each of them less worthy than the last. He should know, having seduced most of them before, at least to his way of thinking. Suddenly, unbidden, a memory of the not-so-distant past came to him.

Springtime in Asgard had always sickened him. Not that it was really more naturally beautiful than any other time of year. The climate of Asgard was always at what was considered a perfect temperature, not too warm and not too cold. Trees and flowers bloomed and died all year-round. Yet what passed for spring inevitably brought with it the tedium of courtship rituals. Chief among Loki’s goals in life had at one time been to make all of the Asgardian women desperately in love with him. But after several hundred years of this nonsense, he had grown bored with the notion. These silly women were so easy to emotionally manipulate that it had lost its challenge. Whispering a few sweet nothings to any goddess he bothered to approach was generally all it took. He was not called Silvertongue for nothing. Of course, after a time, his reputation preceded him, and no one took his flirting seriously, even as they blushed and reciprocated his supposed affection. This contributed to making the game less and less appealing until he gave it up altogether.

This particular spring, he had decided not to pursue this activity any further. Thor’s coronation was swiftly approaching and he had plans for making it memorable. He spent long hours in conversation with his brother, gauging his mood and subtly influencing him toward hatred of the Frost Giants. Trips to Jotunheim to plot the surprise attack had also taken up a lot of his time. Fortunately, Thor hadn’t seemed to notice his brother’s frequent and unexplained absences as he had spent the season awkwardly courting Lady Sif. This was not a labour of love, but merely the result of being haraguened by their father to find a queen. Even so, Thor played the part of devoted lover tolerably well, well enough in fact to turn Loki’s stomach.

And there he was, sitting on one of the benches that lined the courtyard, laughing and smiling at Sif who had apparently told him something he found amusing, unlikely as that seemed. Loki had never known Sif to have much of a sense of humour. Loki leaned against a nearby column, casually eating an apple from last season’s harvest, and pretending to ignore them, while actually watching their every move.

Sif was just leaning in for a kiss, when Loki gave a nonchalant flip of his wrist. Thor’s eyes popped open in puzzlement when he felt a strange prickly sensation. He was horrified to discover that Lady Sif had suddenly grown a beard!

“LOKI!” He roared, quickly getting to his feet.

Loki made no effort to disguise his presence-or his chuckle-as it crescendoed into a full-blown laugh. Thor came around the side of the column, fire in his usually sparking blue eyes. Loki noticed Sif rushing off in embarrassment before his vision was completely blocked by his mountain of a brother.

“I didn’t realize that you liked men, brother,” Loki said casually. “Well, I knew you liked them, but I didn’t know how much.”

“Why must everything be a joke to you?” Thor demanded as he attempted to give Loki his version of a death glare.

Loki shrugged and gave a slight bow. “God of mischief.”

Thor continued to stare fixedly into Loki’s green eyes as if hoping to cow him. He stared so hard that they began to cross. He shook his head and smiled. “‘Tis impossible to stay angry with you for long, brother.”

“I really do have a certain charm, don’t I?” He smirked and tossed his apple core up in the air before making it vanish. “Unlike you. Her retreat was a bit hasty for someone supposedly so enamoured.”

Thor winced as they walked the colonnade. “Was my lovemaking really so pathetic?”

“Your words not mine,” he countered. Thor sank back on his former bench with his head in his hands. Loki suddenly felt a rare twinge of guilt. “Although it seems not to make any difference,” he added hurriedly. “No matter how many times you embarrass yourself in front of her, she returns with more affection than before.” True, it was a backhanded compliment, but it was the only kind he knew how to bestow.

“Unlike your paramours,” Thor jibed. “Where is your latest conquest? I don't even recall who she is at present.”

“I have no need for female companionship,” he spat sullenly.

Thor’s eyes once again lifted to his brother. He stood and walked over to him in three long strides. “What ails you, brother?” he asked with concern in his deep blue eyes. “I mean, beyond the usual.” he amended.

“I find myself more discontented than I have ever been,” he murmured, a hooded look coming over his eyes. “And that’s saying something.”

“Come now!” Thor clapped an arm around his shoulder. “You have just played a successful trick on the god of thunder. The weather today is glorious. The Allfather is on his throne, all's right with Asgard.”

“Not for long,” Loki muttered, thinking of the mayhem he planned to unleash at the upcoming coronation.

“Did you say something?” Thor look at him inquisitively.

Loki was about to reply when he was suddenly distracted by what looked like a fluttering raven’s wing behind the nearby apple tree. Supposing it to be one of Odin’s familiars spying on them, he raised a finger to his lips. With a slight movement of his other hand, he fired a short burst of green energy which hit the bird with a small sizzle. A startled gasp let him know that the black form was no bird.

A woman in a green and gold dress appeared as if out of nowhere, her raven hair billowing behind her in the warm spring breeze. She raised her hand to her cheek where a small scratch was beginning to bleed. “How dare you!” she cried as she looked at her fingers tinged pink with blood.

Loki cowered slightly until he recognized the goddess from the House of Healing. Seeing that she was no threat, his sly smile returned. “My sincerest apologies, Lady Sigyn. I had no idea those glorious tresses belonged to you.

Sigyn’s eyes were colder than the marble pillar Loki was leaning on. “Do not attempt to flatter me, Silvertongue. You may claim to have seduced all of the other maidens of Asgard, but your pretty words have no effect on me.” Her hand began to glow, and Loki was momentarily concerned that she might throw a spell toward him, but instead, she calmly hovered her fingertips over the abrasion on her cheek, and it began to heal itself.

“I never claimed to have seduced them _all_ ,” he countered. “Just the ones worth having.”

She made a noise of indignance, swept up her skirts and stomped away, her long green cape trailing behind her. Loki couldn’t help but notice what a stunning figure she had as she walked back toward the palace. He was startled from his ogling by a rumbling laugh from Thor.

“You certainly have a way with the ladies, brother,” he boomed gleefully.

“I could have any woman I desired, once I chose to pursue her,” Loki sputtered indignantly, his cheeks beginning to warm slightly.

“You have desires beyond that of besting me?” Thor doubled over slightly, gasping for breath between chortles. “I doubt that highly.”

Loki bristled. “I’m every bit the man you are.”

“Surely you jest.” Thor straightened up and looked his brother directly in the eye.

“On the contrary,” Loki returned, fighting the dark rage that slowly began to creep through him. “I am deadly serious.” _And if I were not so wrapped up in my marvelous scheme to ruin your coronation, I would prove it_ , he thought.

“Seriousness in matters of the heart is measured by commitment,” Thor mused. “I wonder if you could ever display either.”

“Do not underestimate me, brother.” Loki warned.

“Oh, I seldom do,” Thor said, with real affection in his eyes and voice. “But do not grieve yourself over the Lady Sigyn.”

“She has ever despised me,” brooded Loki, brushing away a niggling thought that sought to argue that conclusion. “It matters not.”

“I don’t believe her behavior has aught to do with you. She is merely anxious about her upcoming nuptials.”

“Ah, yes.” Loki recalled. “She is betrothed to that moron Theoric, is she not? Now that the wars are over, he should be returning soon to wed his blushing bride.”

“The wedding is currently scheduled a fortnight after my coronation,” Thor confirmed. “But it has been postponed oft in the past. Lady Sigyn refuses to marry until she is certain that peace will linger. For as a healer, she cannot abide war nor the thought of being parted from her husband by a warrior’s death.”

 _Warriors_ , Loki mused darkly. They always thought they were so much better than him. Someday he would have time to knock some of those smug muscle-bound dolts off their pedestals. In the meantime, he had been comforted by the fact that Sigyn’s precious Theoric would be sent back into battle soon...

Now here it was, two years and several wars later, and Sigyn still remained unwed. Ironically, Loki’s reign, wrested from his father through deception and hypnosis, had been thus far as Heimdall had stated “tentatively peaceful.” The warriors were returning, which meant that Theoric, too, would be joining their ranks at the great banquet hall tonight. The wedding would occur soon unless…

Loki felt himself grow suddenly pale, and a look of cold calculation returned to his eyes. He could not thwart his brother in his romantic pursuits and keep the throne at the same time. But perhaps, he could ruin Theoric’s relationship instead. And if he won Sigyn’s affection in the process? That would be an additional boon.

He quickly cast his mind back to all of the interactions he had ever had with her. Lady Sigyn had always professed to hate him, but there was something in her eyes sometimes when she looked at him that belied her supposed abhorrence. He also knew that she was infatuated with Theoric, yet the couple had rarely interacted despite their long engagement. He was beginning to have a plan. And a plan meant purpose. Conviction. Commitment.

 _Impossible for me to be serious?_ thought Loki, a wicked grin returning to his face. _Dear brother, how wrong you are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific notes:  
> When I started this fic, I had intended to set it during _Dark World_ , probably since that was where voiceoftime set hers. I had only seen the film once (gasp), so I didn't realize at the time how impossible that would be. After re-watching, I realised that there was literally no time for these events to have taken place during that story. Which left only one option: to set it between _Dark World_ and _Ragnarok_. This posed additional problems, not the least of which was the appearance of Thor in the very first chapter. I added the scene between "Odin" and Heimdall and relegated the Thor scene to a flashback later in the chapter (which broke my heart).
> 
> Another thing I noticed during the re-watch is that Loki is terrible at pretending to be someone else. (Incidentally, the same is true of Loki in the comics. Thor foiled him once when he hid in a flock of pigeons by throwing bread at them. The bird who was oblivious to the food was, of course, Loki.) Thanks to the phenomenal acting skills of Anthony Hopkins, I could see Loki underneath the guise of Odin. I wanted to play that up for 2 reasons. 1. It shows that while brilliant at deception, Loki has his limits. 2. It keeps the "Odin" scenes from being boring. 
> 
> We know from _Ragnarok_ that Heimdall was banished early in Loki's reign. His suspicions about "Odin's" behavior would have been as good a reason as any for this to have happened. 
> 
> One of Loki's defining personality traits is his jealousy of Thor. It only makes sense that even with Thor gone, Loki would still find a reason to be jealous, even of his relationship with a "puny mortal." 
> 
> The re-watch also cemented my notion that Sif had unrequited feelings for Thor. I decided that even if they weren't lovers in MCU, they might have attempted a courtship pre-Jane, especially since Odin is a huge shipper. 
> 
> Sigyn was described as being a healer in voiceoftime's fic. I could not find any reference to this from the comics. I liked the idea, so I borrowed it. 
> 
> The comment about Loki's conquest of "all the maidens of Asgard" is taken more from the original myths than the comics. It is implied there (as well as here) that Loki isn't really as successful as he would like others to think he is.


	2. How Can I Be Sure?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we properly meet our heroine. Lady Sigyn is eager to be married, but has some doubts about her feelings for Theoric. She is also confused that she has suddenly caught the attention of Odin. Good thing her best friend, Sif, is there to counsel her!

“Come spar with me!” 

Sigyn looked up to see her best friend, Sif, enter the library, practicing a feint with her golden sword. She sighed and set down the dusty tome she was reading. “You know I detest violence, Sif, and yet you constantly urge me to join your bouts. Why don’t you let me teach you some protection spells instead?”

Sif, momentarily distracted by her friend while in the middle of a counter-parry with a candlestick, carelessly struck it with the edge of her sword. As it wobbled, Sigyn raised her hand and a beam of pink light shot out to right it. The candelabrum continued to glow for a second as she finished the spell. “There. Now it shall be safe from any further attempts on its life.”

Sif grinned, sheathing her sword. “My apologies.” 

Sigyn returned her smile. “I know that Mímir is currently on sabbatical, but that is no reason to destroy his library while he is gone.”

“Does that make you his surrogate?” Sif walked over to the nearest shelf and swiped it with her finger. “For you are doing a poor job of it. Look at all this dust!”

“I am no librarian,” Sigyn laughed, “Although I do enjoy reading the Sagas on occasion.”

“Well, you could at least read them outside,” Sif suggested. “The day is marvelously warm and the breeze smells like it blew in from Valhalla.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “And I hear that the Crimson Hawks will arrive shortly.” 

Sigyn flushed at the thought that her fiance’s regimen would soon be home. “I suppose I should select a new date for our marriage.”

Sif scoffed. “You should probably set aside some time to get to know him as well. You have barely begun to be acquainted to the man to whom you will soon be eternally bound.”

“I have tried,” mused Sigyn. “But it seems that every time I do, the Allfather finds some reason to send him back into battle.”

Sif frowned slightly. “And yet you intend to marry anon?”

“Theoric is an honorable man,” reasoned Sigyn. “When he asked me to be his wife, I could not think of a logical reason to refuse. He is strong, brave, and will take good care of me.”

“And what has logic to do with love?” countered Sif, aggrieved at her friend’s coolness toward the subject. “Besides, since when do you need a man to defend you? Your protection spells are the most impressive of all in Asgard.”

“‘Tis not a matter of requirement,” Sigyn admitted with a prideful spark in her deep blue eyes. “I am completely comfortable with who I am and what I can do. I am a capable, intelligent being who can fend for herself. However, being so strong all the time can be extraordinarily taxing. Sometimes, one wants to be looked after, even if just for long enough to catch one’s breath. I pray that Theoric feels as I do, for I long to share my abilities with him as well. Two united against the darkness of the worlds seems so much more bearable than one alone.”

Sif sighed somewhat wistfully, obviously thinking of her past suitor. “I see what you mean. I suppose I can agree with that sentiment.”

“A man’s support, while not always necessary, should never be taken for granted,” Sigyn said with a slight smile quirking the corner of her lips.

“Was that something you read in a book?” asked Sif, looking around at the dusty bookcases.

Sigyn laughed. “No, but it should be. It was quite good, was it not?” She turned to a mirror that graced a nearby wall. Even the Library was not immune from the Asgardians’ obsession with their own beauty. “Do you think he likes this color? Or should I go with a classic blond?” With a pink shimmer, Sigyn’s tresses lightened from raven black to a warm honey gold. “Is that better?” She shook her hair until it cascaded down to its full length, tapering near the small of her back.

Sif nodded. “He will not be able to resist you.”

Sigyn retrieved her book and followed her friend out of the library. “Let us hope not.”

***************

Sif was right. Sigyn could not imagine that a bluer sky existed anywhere in the Nine Realms. She breathed deeply of the earthly air and smelled the blessed dampness of the fountain near the collumned promenade. Spying a nearby apple tree, she sat in the grass, carefully arranging her skirts so that her legs were protected from unfriendly eyes. She placed the tome carefully on her lap and began to flip hastily to her place. Sif paced restlessly nearby, craning her neck toward the bifrost to see if the Crimson Hawks were coming. They did not have long to wait. A horn sounded and a parade of red-clad warriors began to head toward the courtyard, their shields shining in the bright sunlight. A crowd of eager Asgardians followed them, joyously cheering their returned heroes on their way to the banquet that had been prepared for them. Others rushed to meet them from the citadel, shouting and smiling. The Crimson Hawks, being the elite guard of Odin, were the last of the soldiers to return. Their advent signalled the true end of the recent combat so the joy of the realm was complete.

Sif signalled to her friend as the regiment approached, and Sigyn gently placed her book near the roots of the tree before joining her. She tossed her long golden hair behind her and smoothed it with a quick spell. Her eyes searched the group for her beloved, but it was hard to tell them apart with their red helmets still firmly in place. 

Suddenly, a louder noise was heard coming from the direction of the palace. Odin and his retinue shortly emerged to greet the oncoming throng. The Allfather looked splendid as usual in his brown leather garb with its shiny bronze accoutrements. Sigyn bowed to her monarch as he passed and was startled to notice that his one-eyed gaze lingered on her a little longer than was necessary. What interest could her king possibly have in such a common healing goddess?

By now, the clamour had reached a near deafening roar. Odin raised his mighty spear, Gungnir, and the crowd was immediately hushed. “Warriors of Asgard,” he proclaimed. “Long and valiant has been your struggle. Your warfare has seen both blood and glory. Yet there is a time for everything, and tomorrow dawns the day of peace. Tonight, I share my bounty with you all in wondrous feast as we toast the victors and honour the fallen.” Odin put his hand to his heart and bowed his head for a moment of silence.

Sigyn fought the urge to roll her eyes. He wasn’t really going to make this celebration all about that insensitive whoreson traitor again, was he? Sigyn understood that the Loki had been his son and that he had died honourably despite his many misdeeds, but the Allfather’s obsession with deifying him was starting to feel a little...odd to say the least. Sif shared a significant glance with her. Apparently, she was thinking the same thing.

Odin blessedly said no more, but graciously stood aside and let the Crimson Hawks begin their procession into the palace. Sigyn realized that this would be her last chance to speak with Theoric before the feast. She carefully scrutinized the men as they marched by and finally spotted her beloved at the rear of the formation. She managed to push her way through the crowd and reached out to touch his leather gloved arm. 

Theoric reflexively reached for his sword before realizing that this was no attack. He turned to face her and smiled. “Sigyn,” he said in surprise. 

“May I speak with you a moment?” she asked as she gently pulled him out of the line. 

He squirmed slightly. “I do not wish to offend the Allfather,” he protested. 

Sigyn looked toward where she had last seen Odin. Once again, she was puzzled to see him staring right back at her. She bowed her head in embarrassment and he quickly looked away. “He is otherwise engaged at present. Come, I vow to be brief.”

Theoric acquiesced, and the two hurried off into the nearby orchard. They stopped beneath a bearded pear and Sigyn spent a few moments just looking into his dark brown eyes, the only features she could clearly discern behind his masked helmet. A soft flapping of wings signaled the presence of a nearby bird. The scene was all so idyllic and romantic.

Theoric squinted at her in confusion for a few seconds. “You changed your hair?” It was a question rather than a statement.

Sigyn blushed. “Do you like it?”

“It’s the same colour as the straw in which Sleipnir makes his berth,” he said flatly.

“Is that bad?” she asked, feeling insulted that she reminded him of Odin’s steed.

“No, just very....horse-like,” he offered helpfully. 

Sigyn’s face had gone bright red, but it wasn’t from bashfulness nor passion. How could such a valiant man be such a clod? 

Theoric detected her discomfort and his cheeks began to pinken as well. “I am truly sorry to have caused offense. ‘Tis simply that I am taken aback by your beauty.”

Sigyn calmed down slightly at his words, but she felt more pity for him than real affection. “I thank you,” she replied with as much grace as she could muster.

“That reminds me of a time when I was out on the battlefield,” he continued, hurriedly. “The sound of crunching bones and the smell of the blood soaked earth distracted me from my task of guarding the Allfather. All I wanted to do was get out into the fray and fight for the glory of Asgard. But I had to stand there and wait and defend. It was most vexatious.”

Sigyn stared at him open-mouthed. What did that have to do with anything? A nearby dove seemed to coo in agreement.

“Now, what did you wish to speak with me about?” he asked.

“I-I was going to confirm the date of our nuptials,” she managed to sputter.

“I was thinking…midsummer’s eve?” he ventured timidly.

Sigyn’s heart fluttered. The most romantic date of the year. Perhaps he did have a spark of amour in him. “That sounds perfect. That gives me nearly a month to prepare.”

“What could you possibly have left to prepare?” he asked. “We have been engaged these two years.”

Sigyn smiled shyly. “You shall see,” she teased.

“Then it’s all settled.” Theoric nodded. “We shall be back from our honeymoon in plenty of time for the Autumn Revels.”

“Autumn...Revels?” Sigyn repeated, chagrined. She might have known that he would want to schedule their wedding around the biggest sparring competition of the year.

“Of course,” he replied. “The winner gets a promotion to the highest rank in their regiment, you know. Wouldn’t it be grand to be married to the leader of the Crimson Hawks? Think of the prestige and honor it would grant you in court.”

 _I don’t want prestige and honour_ , Sigyn thought. _I want a husband who is alive and safe._ The court had never held any allure for her. Of course, that was easy for her to say having been until several months ago the personal handmaiden of the late Queen Frigga. Shortly after Thor’s disastrous coronation, She had been selected from the dozens of Asgardian healers for her skill with curative, protection, and binding spells. She felt twin stabs of grief and guilt in her chest remembering how her majesty had sent her away when Malekith attacked the palace. She had begged Frigga to let her weave an incantation before she left, but the Queen had insisted that she leave quickly to hide with her fellow ladies-in-waiting. Their beloved monarch had died to protect them when it should have been the other way around. Her recent return to the House of Healing had been a step down for her socially, but had been too numb from the loss of her dear sovereign to mind it. The status of her position had never really mattered to her anyway. Well, perhaps it had once, but that was hundreds of years ago when she had been a foolish maiden with ridiculous and naive ideas about a certain… She quickly diverted her thoughts back to her betrothed. “That would be truly splendid,” she agreed, and then immediately regretted the lie.

“I will do my best to make it so, my lady,” he said with a bow, and she could feel her cold heart melt the tiniest bit. She had to admit he was trying, bless him. “Now if you will excuse me, I have a banquet to attend.” He grinned awkwardly at her and gave a bit of a goofy chuckle as he walked back toward the palace. 

Sigyn watched him go, feeling her heart grow numb once again. Suddenly, she felt out of breath as though she had been shouting a conversation while running through a long corridor instead of whispering to her beloved under a tree covered in spring blossoms. Is this what love was supposed to be like? Her nerve ends jangled against each other and and exhaustion overwhelmed her as if she had just been trampled by all eight of Sleipnir’s hooves. Was she making the right decision by marrying Theoric? 

She headed back toward the colonnade, yearning for the advice of her friend. Just before she spotted Sif speaking with Fandral, she noticed Odin taking Theoric aside. Suddenly, his attentions to her made sense. He had been seeking her fiance all along. Sigyn breathed a sigh of relief.

“Greetings, Lady Sigyn,” said Fandral, grasping her hand and kissing it gently. “I hope that sigh was not directed toward me. One does one’s best not to lure away others’ maidens, but being this handsome does have its downfalls.”

As was her custom, Sigyn chose to ignore his careless flirting. “May I have a word alone?” she asked Sif. 

Sif nodded. “But we must be swift. The feast will begin any moment.”

“I just saw Odin in counsel with Theoric,” she replied. “We may have a few moments to spare.”

She led her friend over to a marble bench and sat down to catch her breath. 

“How now, Sigyn?” Sif said with a slight giggle. “Have you been sipping the nectar in the orchard?”

Sigyn frowned at the Asgardian euphemism for kissing. “No, of course not. You know that I have vowed not to partake until my wedding day. My kiss is my oath; to grant it is to promise eternal faithfulness to one man and no other.”

“More’s the pity,” Sif replied dryly. 

“Tell me, Sif,” Sigyn began, deep seriousness creasing lines on her youthful visage. “Did you ever find yourself feeling...well...fatigued after conversing with Thor?” Her wide blue eyes eagerly searched Sif’s own.

“His dialogue does not always sparkle with wit,” she said thoughtfully. “Sometimes his foolishness is a bit tiring.”

Sigyn shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. Have you felt that you struggled to find topics to discuss? That the two of you do not even exist in the same realm and you are constantly trying to pull yourself back into his orbit with the result that you leave feeling your soul has been compressed into a tiny box?”

Sif raised her eyebrows. “Is that really how you feel about Theoric?” 

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” The misery in Sigyn’s face was heartbreaking to see.

Sif took her friend by the shoulders. “The courtship ritual can certainly be...awkward at times. Anyone who tells you ‘tis all nectar and happiness is lying to you. I remember the first time I trysted with Thor. We could not stop making each other blush, and trust me, ‘twas not the blush of love.” She smiled at the memory. “But we quickly smoothed over the rough places and began to relax in each other’s presence. Of course, the relationship did not grow much farther, but that is another tale to tell.” Sif was the one who seemed disheartened now.

“I am sorry to bring up such painful memories,” Sigyn said in a small voice. How insensitive of her to mention Sif’s failed romance just to make herself feel better.

“No need to apologize. What’s done is done.” Sif stood gazing off toward the Observatory as if she, like Heimdall, could see what her former sweetheart was doing now. “At least he is happy.”

Suddenly, the horn sounded again, signalling the last call for anyone who wanted to join the feast. Sif and Sigyn looked at each other in mock horror at the thought of missing the grand event. Then, they laughed and ran to join the procession entering the Great Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I have not been able to get a hold of the comics in which Sigyn is featured, so all of my research is based on summaries from the Internet. I have, however, come across a [panel](https://78.media.tumblr.com/70f4121ac4a9d6c159d51eff3cd3cc9b/tumblr_inline_mo0bmiV6YD1qz4rgp.jpg) that depicts Sigyn using her magic. Her power seems to be a pink or light red colour, so that's what I chose for my "MCU" Sigyn. Red is also the opposite of green, the colour of Loki's magic in the MCU (Incidentally, Loki's magic is yellow in the initial Jack Kirby run.)
> 
> In the original myths and even in the comics, Mímir is Odin's brother (and therefore the uncle of Thor and Loki). He only appears as an enchanted decapitated head in the source materials. I have graciously granted him a corporeal body and an entire library here. The god of wisdom would be pleased.
> 
> Sigyn is no librarian. But the author of this fic is. The author of this fic is not Sigyn. She is not anything like Sigyn (well she likes books and Loki). This is not a Mary Sue. Ahem. Moving on...
> 
> The Icelandic Sagas are historical stories written during the medieval period. I considered having her read the Midgard versions of the Norse Myths, but then she would know that she was intended to be with Loki. A bit too meta for my liking. This ain't Deadpool, folks.
> 
> I have decided that Sigyn is a bit vain and likes to change her hair colour depending on her mood. According to the official Marvel website, her "natural" hair colour is black, but she appears with blond hair during her courtship with Loki, probably to contrast with "Theoric's" dark hair.
> 
> Sleipnir is Odin's eight-legged white horse who is seen briefly in _Thor_ when Odin arrives to stop his sons from waging war with the Frost Giants. In the myths and the comics, Loki is his mother. Yes, his mother. Do not ask. Loki was a mare at the time of his conception. There is no indication of this relationship in the MCU. 
> 
> From what I've seen, the actual Theoric is never shown without his helmet in the comics. For the purposes of this fic, in my version of the MCU, he has dark brown hair. As I mentioned earlier, Loki as Theoric is shown with black hair in the comics. But I dislike the idea of all three members of the "love triangle" having the same hair colour.
> 
> Sigyn was Frigga's handmaid in the comics. She is not specifically named in the movies, but it isn't too hard to imagine her as part of the Queen's retinue. I only discovered this fact in the last week or so, hence Loki didn't make the connection in chapter one. We can chalk this up to him being oblivious and self-centered, I suppose.
> 
> There is no Asgardian euphemism for kissing, as far as I know. But there is now. The author, like her versions of Sigyn and Loki, finds it amusing to make up quotes and pretend they are actual sayings.


	3. You're Gonna Lose That Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki makes Theoric an offer he can't refuse, and Amora crashes his party.

“Odin” emerged into the sunlight of another beautiful Asgardian day. Surrounded by all the lords and ladies of the court, he strode proudly out of the citadel into the courtyard that led to the bifrost. How empowering it felt to have purpose again! It seemed a bitter irony that he should have recently felt so unfulfilled in his role as king, a role he had usurped from his father through another one of his brilliant plots. But now the realm had righted itself, and Loki was back in his element. Trickery and cunning were once again required of his too oft idling mind, and he loved every minute of it.

The entire population seemed to have gathered to join the Crimson Hawks’ homecoming celebration. Not that he blamed them. The feast promised to be one to remember. Of course, only the court and certain select members of the other regiments, along with their families, were invited. But the rest would follow along as far as they could, if only for an excuse to rejoice and lift their voices in cheer for the newly won peace. Loki had not been able to come up with an Odin-caliber excuse to leave the Warriors Three and Lady Sif off the list, so they would be sitting near him at the head of the table. Whoever said it was good to be king clearly never had to endure such trials. Ah, well. He had also added them to his list of people to banish at his earliest convenience, so the jest was on them in the ultimate scheme of things. 

As he scanned his subjects with a look of what he hoped was benign benevolence, a flash of gold caught his eye. He blinked several times before realizing that the blond-haired woman who bowed to him was, in fact, the object of his latest manipulation. Lady Sigyn’s usually dark hair was now as bright and yellow as the sun. He couldn’t say that the colour was unbecoming, but he found himself missing her usual plait of raven black, perhaps because its shade so closely resembled his own. Her gown was of rich crushed velvet in a deep green with gold embroidery on the sleeves and bodice that drew attention to her pleasing curves. His eye lingered a second too long and he soon realized that she had noticed his gaze. He tried his best to make his appraising stare look regal rather than randy as he continued to assess his audience. He took a deep breath and basked for a moment in the excitement and adulation of the crowd. That was more like it.

Loki in Odin-form raised Gungnir and was immediately rewarded by an obedient silence. His lips quirked up in what he hoped was more an indulgent smile than a smirk. He gave a short but, he thought, well-crafted speech about the marvelous job the warriors had done in accomplishing their campaign. Blah blah blah. How tedious it all was. When he got to the part where he mentioned the fallen, a genuine tear welled up in his eye at the memory of his own “sacrifice.” He really had done an amazing job in helping Thor defeat Malekith. And that death scene had been his best acting to date. A performance truly worthy of “Shakespeare in the park” as that impudent mortal Tony Stark might say. How many people who died bravely defending their people lived to enjoy the gratitude of their loyal subjects? History might well prove him the first. He was about to launch into another self-glorifying spiel when he thought the better of it. He needed to be cautious about singing his own praises while the likes of Heimdall and Sif still posed the possible threat of exposure. There would be plenty of time for statues and dramas honoring his tragic “death” later. After all, he did intend to rule for the rest of his life. Or at least until Thor showed up to ruin it. 

As he dismissed everyone to the Great Hall, he noticed Sigyn searching the regiment of marching soldiers for, he assumed, Theoric. He turned to a nearby attendant and whispered that he had some trifling business to attend to before the feast. As he looked back at her, he noticed that she had found her fiance. Suddenly, her eyes locked on his yet again. _Curses!_ he thought as he quickly looked away. He really had to work harder at acting in character. 

Using his powers of mental influence, Loki ensured that no one in the crowd saw his escape into the orchard. Ducking behind a tree, he shimmered into the form of a dove and flew over to a branch within earshot of the lovers’ tete-a-tete. If he was going to impersonate this idiot, he supposed he should make a quick character study, although he knew that the two rarely interacted so it shouldn’t be hard to sell the performance. As he approached, he heard Theoric comparing his sweetheart to...a horse? Loki tucked his head under his wing in the avian version of a facepalm. Theoric recovered from his blunder just long enough to launch into a vivid description of bloodlust. What in the Nine Realms was wrong with this cretin? Could he not see the sheer loveliness of the creature before him? Loki never had any trouble with words, but even a complete dolt should be reduced to spouting poetry just by looking at her. He gave an involuntary coo and then shook his tiny head to clear it. Being a bird was clearly beginning to affect his mind.

The conversation shifted to the date of their wedding. Midsummer’s Eve. That did not give him much time, but it should be plenty. His pretty speech and powers of persuasion would get the job done in short order. But wait. Wouldn’t she discover his ruse if her fiance was suddenly charming and intelligent? Sigyn was no fool. She was one of the few maidens of the land who had ever spurned his advances. This had always seemed odd to him as he had once heard Sif complain to Thor about her friend’s mooning over “that churlish brother of yours.” She must’ve been referring to another of the ladies of the court. And what if Sigyn should run into both Theorics at the same time? That would prove disastrous. Obviously, he would have to get the true groom out of the way before he made his move. But how? This plan was growing more complicated by the minute. How delightful to finally have a puzzle worthy of his considerable talents once again!

As the sinewy slab of beef continued to offend his bride-to-be, this time with ambitions of a military promotion, Loki suddenly got an idea. This annoying cur was obviously obsessed with his career in the Crimson Hawks. What if “Odin” sent him on a super-secret mission that no one else could know about, promising an increase in rank upon its completion? In exchange for this boon, the Allfather would speak on his behalf to the wounded Sigyn and keep company with her until his return. He would, of course, neglect to mention the fact that Sigyn would believe him to be her own true love. Such an exchange might seem suspicious to one such as Lady Sif or even Sigyn herself, but Theoric might just be foolish enough to fall for it. 

Their tryst was ending, and Theoric seemed in a hurry to get to the banquet. Such simpletons always thought about their stomachs at most inappropriate times. Loki himself could go for months without eating if it served the purpose of some intricate plan, but no matter. Quickly, Loki flew back to the promenade and switched back to Odin form as he came around a column. 

Theoric startled as he nearly charged right into his monarch. “A thousand apologies, Allfather,” he murmured with a low bow. 

“‘Tis nothing,” he replied magnanimously. “‘Twould take more than that to fell the great Odin.” He allowed himself an indulgent chuckle. Theoric gave him a baffled look. Good gods! Did everything confuse this twit? “In any case, I need to speak with you on a most urgent and confidential matter.”

Theoric’s eyes were as luminous as the lanterns that the crowd followed into the banquet hall. “What is it, my king? Whatever you request will be my honor to bestow.”

Loki smothered the wicked grin that was starting to form. “Ahem. I have need of a troop to keep watch near the recently uncovered passageway to make certain that there are no attempts to shatter our time of peace. I want you to lead such an envoy.” As far as he knew, there were no immediate threats to the peace, but this was the best way to get his rival out of the way for a while. And if something untoward should occur...all the better. 

Theoric’s face crumpled slightly. “Just now? But Sigyn and I are to be married next month. Is there no one else who could go?”

“You shall be back in plenty of time for that. I just need someone to keep an eye out for a few weeks on the very slim chance that any of our enemies decide to use the secret way while our guard is down.” Loki noticed that his words were not having the desired effect on their target, so he decided to change tactics. “Theoric, you are one of the bravest and most loyal warriors in all of Asgard. It would give me tremendous peace of mind to know that you are out there protecting our people from any threat, no matter how unlikely. And as for Sigyn, would it not be better to prevent a possible war that could disrupt your marriage even more? After all, ‘to dwell with thy kin in safety is good, but to keep evil far away from thy kin is better still.’” He wasn’t sure if that was an actual saying, but it sounded like something Odin would say.

Theoric looked torn. On the one hand, he was clearly flattered by Odin’s compliments and liked the idea of guarding his beloved from harm. But the conversation with Sigyn in the orchid appeared to weigh heavily on him as well. “If the Allfather deems it necessary, I will by all means go,” he finally replied, reluctantly. 

“Allow me to make it easier for you,” Loki continued. “If you do this for me, I will promote you to Captain of the Crimson Hawks. Consider it a wedding present.” 

Excitement flashed across what was visible of Theoric’s face. “Truly?”

“Odin” gave a solemn nod. “You have my word as King of Asgard.”

Theoric then thumped his arm to his chest and bowed respectfully to his sovereign. “It shall be, as ever, a privilege and honour to serve you, my liege.” 

Loki’s smile was genuine if a bit smug. “I thank you, Theoric.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Oh, and by the way, I would not mention this mission to your betrothed. I know how she must worry every time you go to battle.”

Theoric nodded. “The Allfather is indeed all-seeing and all-knowing.” He paused, looking suddenly confused. “But is deception really the way to build trust in a marriage?”

Odin glared with fire in his steely gray eye. If he could have, he would have called down lightning on this impertinent fool. Unfortunately, that was beyond the scope of his magic. “Sorry, sorry,” Theoric backtracked quickly, bowing again. “I didn’t mean to question your wisdom, Allfather. It’s just that, for a moment there you sounded more like...”

Loki cringed a bit, fear beginning to build deep inside. _No, he can’t possibly..._

Theoric shook his head. “Never mind. I apologize yet again”

Relief swept through Loki. “All is forgiven.” He put an arm around the young man’s shoulder. “Now, come let’s enjoy the feast before Volstagg consumes it all. ” 

As they headed back toward the palace, Loki’s eye fell on a square of blue in the grass surrounding a nearby tree. He dropped his arm from Theoric, urging him to go on alone. Theoric bowed politely and hurried to catch up with his betrothed. Loki stooped to pick up the object, which was apparently an ancient leather book with a slightly cracked spine which read Íslendingasögur. Sigyn must have left it there when the parade started. So she was a lover of books as well. Loki smiled thoughtfully at the volume before turning to find his retinue. 

****************************************

The banquet was certainly as legendary as the king who had procured it. Hundreds of gold-plated platters were loaded with wild game, succulent fruits, and delectable pastries. Jeweled flagons were filled to the brim with wine, mead, and cordials made from every type of berry imaginable. The long, intricately carved tables nearly sagged with the weight of it all. But Loki was not thinking about food. All he could do was glare at the couple sitting halfway down the table. Theoric and Sigyn were making doe eyes and talking to each other behind their hands. For the second time today, he felt disgusted. This brainless suit of armour had been irritating enough before he fell in love, but now…

Sigyn’s eyes absently flicked toward his end of the table, and he feigned interest in his soup spoon. Why did she keep looking at him? Did she suspect he wasn’t Odin? Perhaps this girl was cleverer than he gave her credit for. But, no, he was clearly being paranoid. No matter how sharp Sigyn was, no woman’s intellect would ever be a match for…

Suddenly, the doors to the Great Hall opened and a tall slender figure strode toward the table. Loki’s heart dropped. A gorgeous creature in an emerald green bodysuit strode down the hall toward him. The rumble of conversation in the room immediately hushed as the imposing woman approached Odin at head of the table.

“I demand an audience with the Allfather,” she said leaning toward him and nearly upsetting a golden goblet. 

Cold fear swept through him as he stared at her. _Amora_ …She was as scintillating as ever with her golden hair twisted up in a cruel spiked jade crown and her muscular thighs pressed up against his chair. Loki gathered his wits together as best as he could and stood to face his former paramour. “How dare you interrupt us in this fashion, you brazen harlot!”

“How dare I, ‘Odin?’” she spat the name, and Loki could hear the implied quotation marks. Damnation. He might have known the Enchantress would see past his masquerade.

There was a slight comotion from the middle of the table as Theoric stood up, drawing his sword. He turned toward the escalating confrontation and was about to rush to his king’s defense when Sigyn’s hand grasped his free arm. She miserably shook her head, but he wrenched free and hurried to his monarch’s side. 

Amora stood up and arched her fingertips together, power crackling from the ends of her long well-manicured nails. 

“Peace!” cried Loki, desperate to draw her attention back to himself. How could he impersonate Theoric if the idiot was dead before the night was over? “Hasten to the throne room and we shall converse.” He turned to the rest of his guests whose eyes were all steadfastly fixed on him, all save Sigyn, who was still gazing at Theoric, tears threatening to spill from her cerulean eyes. “Have no fear, my subjects. I shall return shortly.” 

Amora’s head snapped back toward him, her corn-yellow locks sweeping back over her bare shoulders and scarcely covered breasts. “That’s more like it,” she purred, trailing a fingernail in the air as her attack magic dissipated.

Loki sighed in disbelief as he followed her to the throne room. “I thought I banished you ages ago,” he muttered as he slammed the door behind her.

“Now, really, Loki.” Amora grinned widely, her teeth looking sharp and dangerous. “Is that any way to treat an old ‘friend.’”

Odin’s form melted away in a ripple of green. He hated to admit it, but being called by his true name for the first time in months felt wonderful. He tried to shake off the thrill of being so addressed at long last. “What do you want, Amora?”

“First things first.” She sauntered toward him seductively, her hips swaying. She took his face in her hands and pressed her mouth forcefully, but not unpleasantly into his. 

Loki was torn between wanting to have her right then and now and feeling as though he were cheating on someone. Time seemed to slow down as the kiss deepened, causing Loki to feel lightheaded and dizzy. As her tongue tried to part his long unkissed lips, he finally managed to pull away. “You’re the one who told me we shouldn’t be together,” he quipped wryly. “Changed our mind, have we?”

She dropped her hands and shrugged. “Touche.’” She quirked a smile and shook her finger at him. “You should never have told my sister about your hidden entrance to Asgard. She’s terrible at keeping secrets, particularly when I get into her head and steal them from her. ”

Loki didn’t know how much more of this his heart could take. “Lorelei? Is she here, too?”

Amora laughed, a ragged, grating sound. “If she was, would I be? You know I despise her. In fact,” she continued, looking him straight in the eyes. “That is what I came here to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” Loki’s voice went up an octave. This couldn’t be good.

“Thanks to your telepathic message to her during the prison break, my darling sister has escaped to Midgard and is making a spectacle of herself as usual. I need you to do something about that.”

“Why this sudden love for humanity?” Loki countered in sardonic amusement.

“I couldn’t care less about the mortals,” she replied, looking down at her nails. “It’s my sister that vexes me. She is free to roam the Nine Realms when she should by all rights rotting in an Asgardian dungeon. I feel the same way about her as you do about your brother.”

Loki highly doubted that. His relationship with Thor had always been nearly impossible for him to define, even to himself. He claimed to detest him, but there was a bond there that he could never manage to destroy. And, if he was honest with himself, which he seldom was, he truly didn’t wish to break it any further than he already had. Amora, on the other hand, had always been cold-hearted and calculating. He wondered if she even had the capacity to love at all. Ironic, considering the meaning of her name.

“Last time, the worst punishment you could come up with was enchanting your sister to fall in love with me,” Loki said, an edge of bitterness lacing his voice. “Now you want her locked up? Amora, your treachery has outdone even yourself.”

“Are you proud of me, Loki?” Amora laughed again, but this time it sounded almost musical. Loki knew she was attempting to use her abilities on him, but it wouldn’t work. He wouldn’t let it. This was no time to be lusting after an old flame. To keep this Odin charade going, he had to have full use of his faculties. But damn, wouldn’t it be more enjoyable to give in?

She frowned when her spell had no effect. “You used to be so much more fun. We had some grand times together, didn’t we? But I see that all of your newfound responsibility is making you a proper bore.”

Loki chose to ignore the insult, although he bristled inwardly. “I assume if I don’t do what you want, you will tell everyone my true identity. Come now, Amora. What makes you think they would believe you?”

“Most wouldn’t,” she agreed. “But at least one would. The only one that would count. Ah, I see you know of whom I speak. But then, that’s the thing about you, Loki. Your eyes never could lie, no matter how convincing your words might be.”

Loki hated how well she could read him even after all these years. “You don’t even know where my brother is,” he protested feebly. 

“True,” she conceded. “But Heimdall does. I’m sure I could...convince him to help me.”

Damn. She had him cornered. Heimdall’s loyalty and decency wouldn’t stand a chance against her mystical feminine wiles. In fact, Loki had always suspected that Heimdall was attracted to Amora on a deeper level despite the fact that she was clearly an enemy of Asgard. “So if I send someone to capture her, will you go back to whatever pathetic hole you crawled out of and leave me alone?”

“Of course,” she agreed. “I seem to have some pressing business in Jotunheim anyway. No point in wasting my time here.”

Loki wondered what she could possibly have to do there, but he ignored the niggling feeling that something off had occurred during the previous conversation. “I yield,” he said in defeat. “I will send someone to capture your sister.” Loki hated losing, especially to women and humans, but it seemed he had no choice in the matter. Not if he intended to keep his identity a secret. Now that he was properly defeated, there was one thing he still needed to know.. “Tell me, Amora, was my disguise that pathetic? You knew it was me the moment you arrived. How?”

Amora’s gaze turned to ice as she spoke, “You really don’t remember where your father banished me, do you?”

Loki thought about it for a moment. “Svartalfheim,” he said finally, realization dawning on him.

“That’s right,” she snarled. “I was there in that barren wasteland when you launched your surprise attack on the Dark Elves. I watched your entire performance. You were clever enough to fool your witless brother, but I knew that the god of mischief could not be defeated so easily. ‘Tis a pity your brother did not stop to bury his dead or give you a proper Asgardian funeral. I would have relished seeing a Frost Giant burn.” 

She cackled briefly, much to Loki’s annoyance. Apparently, news of his true heritage had reached her even in exile. Wonderful.

Amora cleared her throat and continued. “I waited in concealment until night fell, watching your lifeless ‘corpse’ all the while. I must admit, I was impressed by your patience. When you finally arose and transformed into that nameless warrior, I guessed your plan. We are much alike, Loki. Do not forget that.”

“Well, that’s a mercy,” Loki said, a bit too brightly for the circumstances. “For a moment, I thought you actually figured it out on your own. Good to know I was merely a victim of happenstance.” Even Amara’s death glare could not wipe the grin from his face. “No matter,” he continued. “Just stay away from Heimdall, and all shall be done exactly as you wish. Your sister will be returned to her cheery little dungeon cell posthaste.” 

“Some free advice,” said Amora, as she turned to leave. “Get rid of that Bifrost Bore. He’s a liability. Might I suggest a replacement?” Loki shrugged. “Skurge is a brave fellow, and he will be loyal to you if I ask him.” She smirked, but there was something like pity in her eyes. “Apparently he fancies me.”

“Imagine that,” Loki muttered as she exited the room, leaving it darker and colder for lack of her colourful presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the repetition of this scene from chapter two. I tried to make it as different as possible by not repeating the lines of dialogue. I felt it was important to go backward and show what Loki was thinking/feeling at the time. This will probably be a pattern in the rest of this fic, so I hope it doesn't bore you too much.
> 
> "Shakespeare in the park" -I wrote this bit of dramatic irony before IW even released. Sometimes, I hate being right.
> 
> "Using his powers of mental influence" - Without the Tesseract, MCU Loki is incapable of complete mind control (contrary to the LEGO Video Games). However, he can put ideas into people's heads.
> 
> "He shimmered into the form of a dove" - Yes, the dove from the previous chapter is indeed, Loki. Props to anyone who figured it out. Loki in the comics is especially fond of birds. He transforms into them frequently, probably because he can't fly in his true form. He also uses them as a mode of transportation by surfing on their backs. I'm not going to spell out why he chose a dove. You are all intelligent readers who can figure it out, I'm sure. ;)
> 
> "Midsummer's Eve" - Perhaps I should have mentioned this in the last chapter, but Midsummer's Eve is otherwise known as the Summer Solstice. It is actually a holiday in Sweden and Finland. It only makes sense for Asgard, a land with roots in Norse Mythology, would celebrate it as well. This year, it falls on Thursday, June 21st. The reference to Midsummer's Eve being "the most romantic day of the year" is a nod to the Shakespeare comedy _A Midsummer Night's Dream,_ which ends in the wedding of three sets of lovers. I love Shakespeare. Deal with it.
> 
> Loki's plan to get rid of Theoric - The original Marvel Loki of the comics is, in my mind at least, about 99.9% evil (The .1% being his eventual love for Thor/Sigyn). I reason that MCU Loki is about 60/40 (good to evil, the 40% primarily from his actions in The Avengers). I decided that he wouldn't necessarily want to straight out murder Theoric like he does in the comics. However, at this point, he would feel no guilt if his actions cause Theoric's death.
> 
> "recently uncovered passageway" - We know from Thor that Loki discovered this passageway a while ago, however, it would only have been public knowledge after he and Thor used it to travel to Svartalfheim in _The Dark World._
> 
> "for a moment there, you sounded like" - Loki is so terrible at pretending to be someone else that even Theoric suspects him. Once again, I am playing this up so that it is obvious that Sigyn falls in love with him and not Theoric.
> 
> Amora - While researching Loki in the comics for this fic, I fell in love with the idea of including the Enchantress as well. Their relationship in the early comics is interesting. Loki makes obvious overtures to Amora, but is rebuffed because they are "too much alike" and she can never fully trust him as seen [here](http://cdn1.sciencefiction.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Enchantress.jpg). Apparently, despite Amora's devious nature, she yearns for trust in a romantic partnership. Perhaps this is why she is so fond of Skurge. Later in the comics, Loki and Amora do become lovers. Never underestimate Loki's powers of persuasion. ;) 
> 
> Amora's kiss - Amora's lips have special powers in the comics. All I'm gonna say about this at present.
> 
> Lorelei - As far as the MCU goes, Lorelei has only appeared in _Agents of SHIELD_ thus far. It's been a source of puzzlement in the fandom why Loki in Odin-form would bother sending Sif to collect her after her escape from the dungeon in _The Dark World_. I attempt to explain it here.
> 
> "enchanting your sister to fall in love with me" - A reference to an incident in the comics that will become pivotal to the plot of this fic later on. Hint. Hint.
> 
> Heimdall and Amora are a legitimate ship in the comics. Don't ask.
> 
> Amora's banishment to Svartalfheim - This was entirely invented for this fic as a way to explain why Amora hasn't yet been seen in the MCU.


	4. Sweet Talking Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn has one "meet cute" with Loki, and Loki has two with her. ;)

This was definitely the strangest banquet Sigyn had ever attended. The hall was eerily quiet save for the scraping of gold on gold and the tinkling of crystal as the guests continued their meal in silence. Her fingers still tingled from the protection spell she had been about to cast on Theoric during valiant attempt to defend the king’s honour. No sooner had he returned to the table than she whispered to him, “Did you not find that odd?”

Theoric stuffed his face with a joint of lamb. “Hmm?”

“A known criminal who has been banished for hundreds of years approaches the Allfather, and he treats with her? Why did he not send for the guards and throw her into the dungeon?”

Theoric swallowed and shrugged. “Our ways are not the Allfather’s. I am sure he had good reason for what he did.”

Sigyn was dissatisfied with this response. “I feel ill at ease about the whole thing.”

Theoric turned to her and smiled with bits of flesh wedged between his shiny teeth. “No matter what happens, I will protect you.”

“I thank you,” she whispered and turned back to her plate, even though food was the last thing on her mind. She cut a piece of succulent melon and raised her fork carefully to her mouth. The juices fairly gushed as she bit into it, reminding her of a summer long past when she had sat on a balcony of the palace, gorging herself on the sweet fruit with Sif…

She had been a young godling then, only several hundred years old. Sif had sneaked her into the palace and up to Thor’s wing of the castle. Sigyn was an apprentice at the time and had no business being in the houses of royalty. As an orphan, she had had few options when it came to her livelihood. Fortunately, her natural talent in magic had attracted the attention of Lady Eir, and she had been accepted into the healer training program. She met Sif when the latter had become injured in a scuffle with a young man named Fandral who insisted she couldn’t become a warrior because she was a girl. Of the two of them, he had shown up at the Houses of Healing in worse shape. While Lady Eir had attended to the ailing misogynist, Sigyn had helped Sif. The two had been inseparable ever since.

That particular day was a holiday, Midsummer’s Eve, in fact, so Sigyn had a rare day of leisure. Sif had dared her to sneak into the palace with her. She, herself, was welcome there due to her status in the court. She insisted that Sigyn, as a friend of a friend of Prince Thor would be welcome as well. This claim proved to be false as they were turned away at the gates by the Crimson Hawks themselves. Sigyn was usually a stickler for the rules, but on this particular day, the joy of the season had overwhelmed her better judgment and she followed Sif up the rickety wooden trellis on Thor’s side of the castle. As she neared Thor’s chambers, her pale pink kirtle caught on a rusty nail. She made it to the balcony, but her skirt was badly torn, a swatch of cloth waving from the trellis like a rose petal blowing loose in a summer storm. 

“Flummery!” she exclaimed as she plopped down on the cool marble floor, defeated. Her brows creased at the thought of ruining her only nice dress. What would Lady Eir say?

Sif stifled a giggle. “You cannot even curse properly, Sigyn.”

Sigyn had to smile at that. “I have a unique philosophy of language, Sif,” she explained. “Words are powerful things. On the wrong lips, they can be downright dangerous. As a healer, I have sworn harm to none. I feel this applies to my tongue as well. I, myself, have nothing against swearing, but one who hears my dereliction might be offended, hurt even, by my utterance. Therefore, I try to keep my speech as gentle as possible.”

“You are too good to be true,” ribbed her friend, grabbing a melon from a nearby bowl of fruit. Cutting it deftly with her sword, she gave half to Sigyn.

Sigyn scooted toward the edge of the balcony and let her bare legs dangle. She raised the melon to her lips and took a bite. Sweet nectar of the gods, it was good! As she chewed, she looked up at the branches of a nearby tree. She sighed in contentment as she daydreamed, her vision blurring as she stared blankly at the white blossoms sprinkled among the lush foliage. What must it be like to live in a place like this?

“It’s not too terrible,” came a soft voice from behind her. 

Sigyn startled, dropping the melon into her lap. Sif reached for her sword until she realized who the intruder was. “Good day, Loki,” she muttered unenthusiastically.

Sigyn’s heart began to pound like Mjolnir in her chest. She turned around and looked into the most beautiful blue-green eyes she had ever seen. She gave a startled gasp and scrambled to her feet. She had never seen Prince Loki before, but she had heard much about him from her friend. According to Sif, he was the most irritating man alive. Sigyn had always chided her for her disrespect towards the Allfather’s younger son, but Sif had brushed her off. Now that she was face to face with him, Sigyn was even more certain Sif was wrong. There was mischief in those eyes, to be sure, but also a sadness deeper than anything she could possibly fathom. But what cause had a prince to be sad? Suddenly, Sigyn found it hard to breathe. Adrenaline surged through her veins and she seemed to be falling into those gorgeous eyes. But she also felt more alive than she ever had before in her life.

“You lost this, I believe,” he said, and he handed her a scrap of amaranth fabric. 

His voice washed over her like a river current during a deluge. She would drown for certes. She should feel terrified at the loss of her faculties, but she was exhilarated. She dropped a breathless curtsey and couldn’t even manage to murmur her thanks.

“Please,” he protested gently but forcefully, continuing to fiddle with the piece of her skirt. “No need for formalities. Any friend of Sif’s is a friend of mine.”

Sif made a sound of disgust. “We are not friends, Loki.” 

Sigyn vaguely wondered how Sif could actually be having a conversation with him. She knew that if she tried to open her mouth at this moment, nothing coherent would spill forth. She was suddenly very envious of her daring friend who could discourse with royalty as if they were just ordinary people. 

Just then, Loki turned to look at Sif and the spell began to break. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” he prompted, a hint of annoyance in his beautiful voice. Noticing the bowl of fruit, he walked over and plucked a few grapes with his free hand, popping them into his mouth with relish.

Sigyn’s head had cleared enough to notice Sif rolling her eyes. “Loki, this is Sigyn. She’s an apprentice in the House of Healing, and it was hard enough for me to convince her to come here as ‘tis. I don’t need you playing mind games with her and frightening her away.”

Mind games? Sigyn blinked in confusion. What was Sif talking about? Then, she recalled his words when he had first arrived. He had told her it wasn’t too terrible to live in a palace. He had answered a question she had not even asked aloud. Sigyn could feel heat creeping up her neck. “You...you read my mind?” she finally asked in disbelief.

He shrugged and grinned, displaying two rows of perfectly straight if slightly crowded teeth. “A mere parlour trick while I am holding this.” He took her hand and placed the swath of material, gently closing her fist around it. “Eventually, I should be able to telepath without a conductor.”

Although his hand was colder than she expected, his touch was not an unpleasant sensation. Nevertheless, she shivered slightly, more from the nearness of his skin to hers than from the chill of it. Yet as awed of him as she felt, she knew she must protest. “You shouldn’t do that without permission,” she managed to mumble, eyes cast to the floor.

“Oh?” She couldn’t see his face, but it sounded as if the idea had never occurred to him. Then he began to chuckle softly. “This may be the first time a commoner has dared to instruct me. What an odd creature you are, Sigyn.”

Her eyes were drawn inexorably back up to his at the sound of her name on his lips. She wished he would say it again, so she could close her eyes and lose herself in that voice. But she couldn’t help feeling that her privacy had been violated when he penetrated her mind. She tucked the torn scrap of pink in the pouch that was tied firmly around her waist. Then, she closed her eyes for real, concentrating on raising a barrier around her thoughts. A moment later, she opened them again. “I don’t suppose you know what I’m thinking now.” The boldness of her words came as a complete shock to her. What was she doing?

Loki seemed startled by her challenge, but then he managed a brief tight-lipped smile back at her. “I’ve lost my conductor, but as you wish.”

Sigyn shyly offered her hand, inwardly wondering how she could be so daring. “Would this do?”

Confidently, he took her hand in both of his, and she took in a sharp breath at the sensation. The skin around his eyes tightened as he tried to read her. Sigyn’s brain began to itch slightly as his thoughts tried to find a way in, but the barrier held. “What in Hel?” stammered Loki. The confusion on his face was evident, and Sigyn almost felt badly for him. Almost. 

Sif burst out laughing. “Oh, you’ve prodded the wrong porcupine this time, god of mischief. Sigyn is a master at protection, healing, and binding spells. Did you really think I would be friends with anyone who couldn’t fend for herself?”

Loki’s cheeks reddened, the spots of colour contrasting to the palid whiteness of his skin. “I see,” he murmured, and she could feel the heat of his barely concealed rage spreading warmth through his fingertips. She involuntarily tugged her hand away, and he let it drop immediately as though it were something that would contaminate him if he held it a second longer. 

“I do hope there are no ill feelings between us,” Sigyn said quietly, suddenly worried that she had made an enemy of one of the most powerful men in all of Asgard. “I didn’t mean to cause offense. I was merely testing my abilities against yours. I admit your talents frightened me a little. I wished to ensure that I could properly deflect them.”

His face had returned to its normal hue as she spoke. “I don’t believe that for a moment,” he said, his lips quirking upward slightly. “Anyone who challenges a prince must either be fearless or foolish.” His eyes looked directly into hers again. “And I can tell you are no fool.” 

Warmth flooded Sigyn’s face making her feel vaguely feverish. “I thank you?” she managed to squeak.

“You have spirit, Sigyn.” She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw him wink at her as he wrapped his cloak around him and disappeared once again. 

“You’re in trouble now,” said Sif, knowingly as he left.

Sigyn’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “Is he angry with me?”

Sif shook her head. “Worse. I think he actually likes you.”

Sigyn suddenly felt as though she could walk right off the balcony and into the clouds. She had just met a prince and had an actual conversation with him! Even if they never saw each other again, she would remember this day as one of the most amazing of her life…

Of course, she had seen him again. Frequently. And now the memory of that day brought her nothing but pain and humiliation. How could she have been so stupid as to fall for that rakish charm? She should’ve known from the start that he was a deceitful faithless-

Her dark thoughts were interrupted by the return of the king to the banquet hall. He looked dazed as if he had just awoken from the Odinsleep. He wandered back toward the head of the table and sat down in a semi-stupor.

“Are you ill, your majesty?” Sigyn heard herself say as she rushed toward him, her protective healer instincts on full alert. She peered worriedly at his unfocused pupil. If she didn’t know any better, she would say he had been bewitched by that demoness. “Permission to perform counterspell measures?” she asked hastily as her fingers began to glow pink.

He suddenly snapped to attention. “NO!” he shouted, causing her ears to ring. “I am fine, Lady Sigyn. Do not trouble yourself on my account.”

Sigyn recoiled, sparks dropping from her startled fingertips. Why had he reacted so negatively to her offer to counterspell him? If he was not enchanted, nothing would have happened. “Apologies, Allfather. I have overstepped.” As she turned to go back to her seat, she could have sworn she heard the words “As per usual” mumbled behind her, but she must be imagining it.

“We hope you don’t mind our continuing to eat,” Volstagg said through a mouthful of pastry. “But you were absent so long, we thought you might not return.”

“What do you mean?” asked Odin in bewilderment. “I have only been gone for a few moments.”

“Begging your majesty’s pardon,” interjected Fandral, “but the hourglass would seem to suggest otherwise.”

Sigyn’s head jerked back in the king’s direction as she sat back down. The top half of the hourglass had been nearly full when Amora had entered the great hall and now there were but few grains of sand left. Odin was disorientated, irritable, and had lost complete track of time. He truly had been spelled then. Why wouldn’t he let her help? His wife, the queen, had trusted her; surely that was recommendation enough!

Odin’s glance darted about the room. “Ah, so it does,” he replied nervously. “My apologies to all of you, but I am afraid I must retire.” A few members of his retinue exchanged glances before following their afflicted leader out of the room.

Sigyn tried to swallow her uneasiness with a mouthful of bread, but it did not want to go down. Something very strange was happening here, and she was determined to find out what it was.

******************************

The next morning, Sigyn woke to a light rap on her door. She hastily threw a golden robe on over her nightgown and answered it. Theoric was standing there in a brown leather jerkin and matching trousers. Around his shoulders was a walking cloak in a darker shade that nearly matched the colour of his neatly combed brunette hair. For the first time since she’d met him, his helmet and sword were nowhere to be seen. 

“Theoric!” she exclaimed, pulling her robe more tightly around her. “What are you doing here? You will wake the others!” Sigyn lived in a community dwelling with the other unmarried healers only a few buildings down from their workplace. 

“Sorry,” he said barely above a whisper. “It’s just that I meant to return this to you yesterday, but I stayed up all night reading it instead.” He produced a familiar blue leather bound volume from beneath his cloak and dropped it into her outstretched hands. 

Sigyn gasped. “My book! Where did you find it?”

“I came upon it laying in the grass while taking a moonlight stroll after dinner.” Theoric made an exaggerated tutting sound. “Mímir would not be pleased at the way you are treating the library’s collection in his absence.”

Sigyn looked at him in surprise. It was not like her fiance to tease her so. Not that she minded. In fact, it was rather sweet. She quickly turned to place the book on a table just inside the door. As she turned back, she suddenly frowned. “Wait,” she said slowly. “Since when do you read?”

Theoric seemed affronted. “Being a soldier doesn’t make one illiterate. The Asgardian military is trained in more than just combat. I speak several languages, as do all of the citizens of our fair country.”

“I didn’t realize that Icelandic was the language of choice for warriors-in-training,” she replied, taken aback by his belligerence. 

“It was an elective,” he admitted. “I learned all of the Scandinavian tongues in addition to the required Midgardian languages. I wanted to read what the mortals wrote of us in the ancient texts.” He smiled as if at some private joke. “Much of it is quite amusing.”

“Oh?” she replied. She secretly wondered if perhaps the battle scenes were not gory enough for his taste.

“Even better, if you speak German, you should read _Der Ring des Nibelungen_ ,” he suggested with a snicker. “It’s hysterically inaccurate.”

“I shall, if it pleases you,” she returned smiling.

“It would,” he agreed. “Read it and we can discuss how terribly wrong the humans got some of our names and personalities.”

Sigyn felt as if she were glowing from within. This was a new side to her betrothed. There were apparently hidden depths to his personality that she had never plumbed before. He actually did think about more than just training and killing and battles. He even read for pleasure as well as self-instruction. She was about to ask what his favourite book was when she suddenly remembered the odd scene at the banquet. “Tell me,” she said instead. “What news of the Allfather?” As a member of Odin’s elite guard, Theoric should know if the king had recovered.

Theoric shook his head. “Sadly, he is feeling yet a bit under the weather, but assures us that he shall recover anon.”

“Should Lady Eir be consulted?” Sigyn’s voice pitched upward in alarm.

“Not to worry, love,” Theoric assured her. “He is in the best possible care with the most capable healer in all of Asgard at this very moment.” His dark eyes looked imploringly into hers. “Now shall we take a walk in the gardens?”

Sigyn wanted to do so more than anything, but her responsibilities to the House of Healing came first. “I cannot. I’m on duty until the sundial shows five o’clock.”

Disappointment dropped a shadow over Theoric’s face. “‘Tis no joy to be on furlough with no one to while away the empty hours. Very well. When the sundial shows five, I will be waiting.” 

The sadness in his eyes was almost unbearable to behold. Sigyn had a sudden desire to drop everything and spend as much time with him as he wished, but her logical, conscientious nature wouldn’t allow it. “I shall count the seconds until then,” she whispered with a sudden aching longing that she had never before known. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to kiss her, but instead, he smiled wistfully and wandered into the golden morning. Sigyn could swear her heart was being tugged toward him as he left, leaving her with a cold hollow feeling inside as she began her morning routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "her pale pink kirtle" - Sigyn is depicted wearing a provocative pink two piece outfit when they meet in the comics. I have dressed her more modestly, but this is a nod to the original story.
> 
> Grapes are one of the few foods that Loki is ever shown eating in the early comics. MCU Loki apparently enjoys them as well as he is eating them while watching _The Tragedy of Loki of Asgard_ in _Ragnarok._
> 
> Loki's need for a conductor to telepath when he was first learning is my own invention. There is no canonical proof for it in either the comics or the movies. However, it does appear that touching a person makes it easier for him to read minds as seen in _Ragnarok_ when he forces Valkyrie to relive her worst memory.
> 
> "his hand was colder than she expected" - Although I have yet to find any canonical proof for it, it seems to be a common assumption in fanon that Loki's body temperature is lower than the Asgardians' due to his Frost Giant heritage. *Update* Apparently, Loki's body temperature registers as extremely low when he is inside the holding cell in _The Avengers_ I never noticed because the shot of the readout is so quick. Thank you, Pinterest! lol
> 
> Hourglasses and sundials - Even though Asgard is highly advanced in many respects due to their use of magic, I haven't seen any mechanical devices such as watches or clocks in the movies or the comics. I have made the assumption that they must use more primitive means of keeping time.
> 
> "It was an elective" - Despite my eagerness to ignore the canonical implications of _Infinity War,_ I found Thor's comment about taking Groot as an elective language to be amusing and decided that Loki would have taken elective languages as well.
> 
>  _Der Ring des Nibelungen_ is a cycle of operas written by Richard Wagner in the mid nineteenth century. He wrote both the music and the libretto, which was based on a 12th century High German poem called the _Nibelungenlied_ which is itself based very loosely on Norse mythology. It is so inaccurate to the original legends that even the names of the gods have been translated to Germanic ones. For example, Thor is Donner and Loki is Loge.


	5. The Great Pretender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki gets his ducks in a row for his courtship of Sigyn, and Skurge offers his unwanted services.

Loki sat cross-legged on his father’s bed, a blue leather volume sprawled open on his lap. He had already cast a hasty barrier spell around the room to shield his typical shape from any prying eyes. He wasn’t particularly gifted with this type of enchantment, no matter how hard Frigga had tried to teach him. He could be a selective student when he wanted to be and wards were boring and not flashy enough to attract much attention from him. Where was the fun in simply deflecting other people’s attacks? He much preferred to take the initiative himself or at the very least create some sort of diversion to lure them away while he perpetrated whatever mischief his heart desired. For one thing, it was far more amusing to watch when his assailants failed. This slipshod bit of sorcery should be enough to fool his personal bodyguards, which was all that was required at present anyway. At any rate, it utilized less energy and concentration than the shapeshifting he had to perform while in public. Detail work like that was tiring, and Loki tended to avoid it whenever possible.

He flipped a page as he quickly scanned through the story he was reading. Ironically, it was a romance featuring two bards who both fell in love with the same beautiful woman. The hero, Gunnlaug, was traditionally handsome with a chiseled body and reddish gold hair. Loki hated him already. The antagonist had more delicate features and his hair was so dark he was known as Hrafen or Raven. _Reminds me of someone I know_ , Loki thought with a smirk. Gunnlaug had connected with his beloved, Helga, over a shared interest in chess, which would have been all well and good if he hadn’t decided to abandon her and seek his fortune among the crowned heads of Europe. Her father promised that he would give Helga to him in marriage, but only if he returned within three years of the agreement. On his travels, he encountered Hrafen in the English court and made the mistake of bragging about his conquest to him. Hrafen then proceeded to embarrass Gunnlaug in front of the king by winning a poetry contest. To make matters worse, Hrafen travelled to Iceland and wed Helga while his rival continued to disappoint the royalty of Europe with his terrible singing, causing him to miss his three-year deadline with Helga’s father. Of course, the whole lot of them ended up dead in the end when Gunnlaug returned and challenged Hrafen to a duel to the death and the silly female died of a broken heart. Loki scoffed at the foolishness of it all. He supposed the takeaway here was to _carpe diem_ when it came to matters of the heart. Either that or be a better singer and steal someone else’s lady when they weren’t looking. He was already doing both, so he reasoned his current  endeavour was certain to succeed.

He was about to turn in for the night, when the title of the next tale caught his eye: _Gísla saga Súrssonar._ A story about an outlaw sounded delightful, especially after that sentimental nonsense he had just read. He could afford to delay sleep a little longer…

_*************************************_

Loki gradually became aware of the sounds of birdsong outside his bedroom. He blinked several times and looked out the window, startled to see that the sun had already risen and was shedding golden light on the blossoms of the plum tree outside. Placing _Íslendingasögur_ on top of the ever growing pile of literature on his nightstand, he gingerly unfolded his limbs from the positions in which they had been frozen for the last several hours. He slowly walked toward the sunlight slanting into his room, careful to avoid the towers of books that also littered the cold marble floor. He wasn’t usually one to wax poetic about nature, but it appeared as if it was going to be an uncommonly glorious day, even by Asgard’s standards. Midgardians called this date June first, the first day of the first month of summer. In a little less than three weeks was Midsummer’s Eve, the grandest festival of the year and, if all went according to plan, his wedding day. Yesterday morning had dawned like any other over the past six months, dull and uneventful. But today...today was full of possibility, brimming with opportunity to put his keen intellect to this thrilling new challenge. Loki felt as though a current of energy pulsed through his veins despite his lack of sleep the previous night. _Sleep is for mortals_ , he thought haughtily. _I need no such comforts. I have no time to waste with such trivialities._

Since Asgard had an equal twelve hours of daylight year-round, it was easy for him to determine that it was shortly after six a.m. That gave him plenty of time to visit Sigyn before his kingly duties began at eight. He had already sent word through messengers last night for Theoric and the Crimson Hawks to report to the throne room at quarter after eight. Lady Sif would receive her new assignment to retrieve Lorelei from Midgard at nine. By the time he dealt with his normal daily tasks, it would be time for luncheon. He wondered what Sigyn liked to eat. Obviously, he couldn’t take her back to the palace to wine and dine her. What did peasants do for food? He had never had the opportunity to find out. He supposed he could ask the kitchen staff to pack him a picnic lunch so they could eat out in the orchard. Of course, he would be too excited to eat much, but he supposed he could manage a couple of apples.

Loki turned away from the window and caught his reflection in a nearby mirror. Of course, he needed to transform into Theoric again before returning Sigyn’s book, but there was also the matter of his wardrobe. He had never seen the warrior outside of his uniform, so he hadn’t the vaguest idea what he might wear on his days off. Knitting his brows slightly, he caused his princely garb to morph into a more casual reddish brown attire. He picked up his cloak which he had haphazardly thrown onto a nearby chair. Just for fun, he swirled it around his shoulders as it flickered from dark grey to taupe. He turned back toward the mirror. He was disappointed to notice that he looked amazing. His arms were nearly as bulky as his brother’s. His face was as sculpted as a bust of Alexander the Great. He had a manly cleft in his scruffy chin and his teeth were perfectly spaced and pearly white. He was so attractive it was actually making him feel physically ill. He had to laugh at the irony of the situation. _I set out to make Theoric envious and now I am jealous of myself_ , he thought dryly. _I suppose that’s what comes of being so adept at disguise._ Grimacing, he spun around and headed back toward the bed, grabbed the book, and headed out the door, making sure he kept the cloaking spell up as he did so. He passed his personal guard silently and headed out into the brilliant morning to begin his labour of love.

****************************

An hour later, Loki gazed fondly at the pattern of flowering vines on Sigyn’s door as it closed behind her. Their first “meeting” simply could not have gone better. Sigyn had clearly been impressed by his knowledge of her favourite book. He could have been imagining it, but she seemed reluctant to part company with him and go to work. That was a very good sign, if he did say so himself. He would have to speak with Eir while in Odin-form later to see if he could get her out of her duties until after the Midsummer holidays. He supposed that this would be an easy task as the soldiers had all returned home and thus would not require as much healing during peacetime. One of the many benefits of immortality was imperviousness to the diseases of the flesh that plagued humanity. The House of Healing would be nearly empty as long as the soldiers stayed away from the fray of battle. Surely one lone healer, no matter how talented, would not be missed during such a slow period.

Since he had settled that matter, it was time to concentrate on being kingly again for the next few hours. First, he thought as he headed back toward the palace, he would send Theoric and his compatriots on their fool’s errand to the newly discovered border. He wasn’t certain how long he would need to keep him away at this point. All relied on the willingness of the lady. He couldn’t permit Theoric’s return until after his bride’s virtue had been well and truly compromised. He allowed himself a moment’s prurient indulgence as he imagined his inevitable triumph over her maidenly inhibitions. He quickly dismissed the niggling thought that his conquest would be pointless without his brother there to acknowledge it. After all, some challenges were their own reward.

At precisely a quarter past eight, “Odin” was back in his element, lounging on the throne of Asgard. He absently played with Gungnir as the herald appeared at the door to announce the arrival of the Crimson Hawks. Rising regally to his feet, he stamped the royal spear on the floor for emphasis and bid them enter.

The regiment approached the throne in two straight lines, then parted to either side, their swords raised in a solemn salute. Odin nodded to them and invited them to be at their ease. Having sheathed their weapons, the soldiers stood facing him, each looking more fit for service than the last. Loki felt a rush of pride as he inspected them. Sometimes it was hard to believe that he was actually the ruler of this great realm. Moments like this truly made all of the tedium that accompanied the crown actually seem worthwhile.

“Warriors of Asgard,” he began “We appreciate all that you have done for your country of late. However, there is yet one task that we must ask of you before you may enjoy the fruits of your hard-won peace. We have been recently informed that there is a hitherto unknown secret way to traverse the other realms. As we have become aware of this during the ill-fated battle of Svartalfheim where our beloved Prince Loki so tragically lost his life, so our enemies must also now be apprised of this new means of access to our fair kingdom. I charge you this day to undertake a mission of reconnaissance of this uncharted area. Explore the hidden tunnels and suss out their termination. We must be completely satisfied that these recently uncovered paths are secure and that our enemies will not attempt to use them to launch an assault on Asgard.”

As Odin scanned the assembled troop, he noticed that one of the warriors appeared utterly flummoxed or otherwise lost in thought. “Theoric,” he began in what he hoped was an indulgent tone. “I pray you speak your mind. You seem vexed.”

“Allfather,” he said with a respectful thump of his arm against his brawny chest. “I do not wish to cause offense.”

Loki suppressed the overwhelming urge to roll his eye. “If you have a grievance, we would hear it.”

“‘Tis simply that I find it a bit odd that Prince Loki did not see fit to inform your majesty of this threat to our security when he discovered these secret ways.” Theoric swallowed hard, looking a bit sheepish. “Of course, he did utilize them during his failed coup with the Frost Giants…”

Loki was about to rage at this display of impudence, but swiftly recalled that he had asked the soldier to share his thoughts. “Speak no more of the past, Theoric. Our son was a tortured soul who did not always choose the path that we would have preferred. All that matters is that in the end, his heart was in the right place.”

“Yes, my liege,” Theoric said with a bow. “The Allfather is, as always, wise beyond reason.”

Odin nodded sagely and dismissed the company to prepare for departure. He placed a hand on Theoric’s shoulder before he could turn to go. “I trust you have not forgotten my advice regarding the Lady Sigyn,” he said quietly.

Theoric stiffened a bit at his words. “I have told her nothing, although it does not please me to admit it.”

“Have no fear on her account,” Odin replied. “I shall convey your regrets to her and insist that your separation is all my doing. When she learns that I have personally recommended you for this mission, she cannot choose but be glad of her betrothal to such a man. And when you return victorious in your new rank as captain of the Crimson Hawks, her joy will be complete.”

Theoric smiled as though he couldn’t possibly hope to contain his appreciation. “You are most generous, my king. ‘Twill be, as ever, the greatest honour to offer my life in your service.”

Regret twinged Loki’s stomach for a moment at this grandiose declaration. These were people’s lives he was controlling. Yet the allure of playing the puppetmaster was too strong, and he convinced himself that he knew what he was doing and that everything would come out right in the end. How could it be otherwise for the cleverest, most cunning being in the Nine Realms?

“Odin” dismissed his remaining personal guard with a wave of his hand, wishing he could dismiss his misgivings as easily. This was no time to be doubting himself. Sif would be arriving shortly, and she would be even harder to fool than Theoric. He had to be completely focused on his portrayal if he hoped to be convincing. Gods, but it was all so tiring. Not for the first time, he wished that he could relax into his normal form in public just once!

While Loki was still pouting, the herald returned, and he quickly straightened his back against the throne before the servant could notice his ignoble slouch. The herald blinked in confusion for a few moments before informing him that Lady Sif had arrived and would be ready to see the Allfather as soon as convenient. Loki figured he might as well get it over with as quickly as possible, so he motioned for her to be sent forth.     

Sif’s stride carried her down the length of the room in short order. She approached the throne and knelt, placing her right arm reverently across her chest, lowering her head. Loki wished not for the first time that he was on better terms with the warrior maiden. Although she didn’t have Sigyn’s figure, she was lithe and toned and would make for an excellent sparring partner even though she would most likely rout him thoroughly. Not that it would bother him in the slightest. A round of combat was sometimes all the foreplay a trickster god could get, and he would gladly take it. Sif dared a peek at “Odin”, reminding Loki that he had a job to do if he didn’t want his secret exposed to Heimdall. “Arise, Lady Sif,” he commanded with a bit too much relish. “We have a mission of special import for you.”

Sif stood and faced her king as meekly as she could considering her status as a proud warrior of Asgard. “As you wish, Allfather. How may I be of service?”

There were so many inappropriate answers he could give to that question, but he wisely decided against them all. Sif already suspected him, he was sure. No point adding more fuel to that fire. “It has been brought to our attention that Lorelei escaped the dungeon during the prison break last autumn. We need you to descend to Midgard and locate her before she can enslave the entire human race with her hypnotic voice.”

Sif reflexively placed her hand on her weapon at the mention of the siren’s name. “This cannot be allowed. She was thrown into that dungeon six hundred years ago for a reason.”

Six hundred years? Had it really been that long? Why, it seemed like only yesterday that temptress had charmed her way past the Crimson Hawks and into his library with delusions of ruling the Nine Realms together as King and Queen. “We recall very well what that reason was, Lady Sif. Which is why we are in desperate need of your aid to retrieve her. You were the only one who could stop her then, and we feel the same to be true now.”

Sif bowed. “Consider it done, Allfather,” she said with a look of stern resolve on her face. “I will get into contact with S.H.I.E.L.D. immediately, for I may need the mortals’ help to put a swift end to her evil deeds.”

Loki squirmed a bit at the mention of those annoying humans who had worked so hard to thwart his liberation of the Tesseract from their primitive research facility. So much needless bloodshed could have been avoided if they had simply acknowledged his superiority and allowed the Infinity Stone to return to its true Asgardian masters. He would never have allowed that poseur Thanos to claim it. The glorious artifact would still be in his possession if Fury hadn’t sicced the meta humans on him. He sighed inwardly at its loss before remembering that the Space Stone was safely locked away in his vault at this very minute. He would have to go visit it soon after he completed his business with Lady Sigyn.

The warrior woman was gazing at him questioningly again. “Do what you must,” he conceded. “As long as you obtain custody of the wayward creature, we care not what methods you use.”

“I thank you for your permission,” she said with an approving nod. “If there is nothing else, I will prepare for immediate departure.”

“Farewell and godspeed, Lady Sif,” he proclaimed, and she swiftly quit the chamber. As soon as he was assured of her departure, he collapsed onto his throne and flickered back into the god of mischief. He stretched luxuriously, his hands drumming lightly on the throne’s enormous armrests. He supposed that he should probably hear grievances from his citizens or some such drivel for the next few hours, but, as usual, he wasn’t really in the mood. He was degenerating into a genuine sulk when Amora suddenly materialized before him.

“Feeling sorry for yourself again, Mighty Odin?” she asked mockingly.

“Must you always make such a dramatic entrance?” he returned with equal disdain.

“I bow to your histrionic superiority, mischief god,” she said, stooping lower than was strictly necessary and allowing him a tantalizing view of her cleavage.

“You females will be the death of me,” he groaned as she pulled herself upright and out of his reach.

“You should be so lucky,” she teased, with a pout of her voluminous red lips.

Loki closed his eyes, willing his heart rate to slow down. Damn it all to Hel. Focus was nearly impossible with all of these gorgeous women provoking his lust, none of whom ever even offered to slake it. He may as well be king of nothing, for all the female companionship he’d had over the last nine months.

“What brings you slinking out of the woodwork this time, Enchantress?” He said, rubbing his temples to stave off the headache that was beginning to form. “I did what you wanted, so kindly banish yourself back to whence you came.”

“What a flatterer,” she commented dryly. “I wonder that all the wenches in Asgard aren’t throwing themselves at your feet in utter worship.”

“If you have something to say, then say it!” he said shortly, his rage beginning to build from a simmer to a boil.

“Temper, temper,” she chided, and he had a sudden urge to throttle the life out of that delicate swan like neck. “I only wished to tell you that I have spoken with Skurge, and he is most willing to be your new Bifrost Guardian. All you need do is say the word, and he will be there at your beck and call.”

Loki stared at her in disbelief. “You dared tell him my secret without my permission? You conniving little-”

“And this is why your relationships never last, Loki.” Amora frowned in disapproval. “You use all of your lovely speeches during the courtship phase and the honeymoon is over before it’s begun. A woman needs to be wooed on a daily basis, my dear prince. You could take a few lessons from Skurge in that regard. He never lets me forget for one moment that I am a goddess.”

“Thank you, Amora,” he said through gritted teeth. Her words rankled because they were most likely true. He did have a tendency to be stingy with affection once his conquest was won. But romance just wasn’t enjoyable to him once the pursuit was over. It became tedious and dull, just as everything in his life seemed to do after he had settled into a routine. How could he be expected to put his full effort into it if the spark was gone?

“He is outside waiting to speak with you, if you wish it,” she continue, ignoring his petulance. “I cannot tarry, however, so please promise to play nice with my little pet. I must away to better and brighter places.”

“And my herald?” Loki returned. “How did you explain my sudden need for an audience with Skurge to him?”

A slow smile spread across her face. “Let’s just say I let my lips do the talking.”

Loki’s gaze shot upwards in disgust. Of course she had used her enchanted kiss to bend him to her will. “Kindly release my servant from your wretched spell before you leave the vicinity, and send in Skurge if you must.”

“Gladly,” she said, and made a show of reapplying rouge to her puckered mouth.

Loki’s arms crossed reflexively as he watched her leave the chamber. The insolence he had to endure was almost unbearable. Was it too much to ask that his subjects admire and respect him? Also, this unexpected meeting was cutting into his plans for Sigyn. He still needed to speak with Lady Eir regarding her overdue holiday from the House of Healing.

The doors burst open for a third time, and a stocky bald man in full warrior regalia entered. Loki had to admit that Amora’s choice was indeed formidable. He rocked back on his heels slightly to get a better look as he approached.

“My Lord Loki,” he said with a bow, and Loki cringed at the use of his given name.

“You will learn to address me correctly before I give you this job,” Loki said indignantly, hoping he wasn’t making a horrendous mistake.

Skurge met his glare with a placating if slightly creepy smile. “As you command, Allfather.”

Loki felt appeased despite himself. “That’s more like it. As you well know, Heimdall is currently still at his post. Regrettably, I haven’t yet sufficient grounds to remove him from thence. In the meantime, you are permitted to serve as one of my personal bodyguards. It will be most helpful to have a member of my retinue who is aware of my true identity,” he admitted grudgingly.

“If there is anything I can do for you,” Skurge offered a bit too eagerly, “anything at all, just name it.”

Although Skurge’s toadying was a bit grating, it was also gratifying. Finally, someone was treating him with the deference he deserved. “There is something,” he said, collapsing on the throne and returning to Odin-form. “Send for Lady Eir at once. We fear a relapse of our illness of last night.” Loki watched as Skurge nodded and ran to inform the herald of his majesty’s deteriorating condition. He mused that this new errand wasn’t a complete waste of time. He had already done so much work this morning that he felt exhausted. His illness wasn’t even a total fabrication; he had actually called for a healer last night before retiring to his room. Apparently, there was nothing physically wrong with him, and he had not allowed a counterspell to be performed for the same reason he had stopped Sigyn from doing so earlier in the evening.

At any rate, he had told Sigyn this morning that the King was still indisposed, he might as well keep to that story for a while. Loki knew that it was far easier to perpetrate his deceptions when he lied by telling the truth.

Speaking of which, what exactly had afflicted him at the banquet? He recalled that he had not felt like himself after his meeting with Amora. Ironic, considering he had actually appeared as himself before her. He wished he could blame it all on overwork and the strain of pretense, but his instincts told him otherwise. Amora’s sorcery was not to be underestimated. Could she possibly have cast a spell on him without his noticing? Before he could assemble his scattered thoughts, Skurge and his other bodyguards came hurtling through the door, ready to escort the ailing king back to his bedchambers.

Less than a quarter of an hour later, Lady Eir came bustling into his room, knocking over several stacks of books with the train of her long teal gown. Loki made a noise of protest at the shameful treatment of his beloved library, but he quickly muffled it in a groan of pain. Eir lost no time in checking his vital signs and performing scans on his body with her mystical arts. Loki purposely expended more power than was strictly necessary to uphold his transformation spell, causing her to knit her brows in concern.

“You haven’t been using the Dark Energy again, have you, m’lord?” she asked as she manipulated the readouts with her hands. “Your mana stores are much lower than they should be.”

“What cause have I to do so when the Bifrost is fully operational?” he protested feebly with a soft cough.

Eir’s forehead creased further as she continued to observe his stats. “Hmm, well, in that case, I suspect that this deficiency is caused by overexertion. I prescribe plenty of bedrest and the cancellation of your meetings for the rest of the week.”

“Thank the gods we are finally at peace,” murmured “Odin” drowsily, as he shut his one functional eye.

“I shall be in the outer chamber if you need me,” Eir said, dismissing the data that shimmered in the air.

He cracked his eye open a slit as she turned to leave. “Oh, speaking of peace,” he said quietly. “I trust that your staff is enjoying this respite from the constant stream of war wounds.”

Lady Eir looked back at him warily. “In sooth, we actually prefer to keep our hands busy when we are on duty. It helps the time to pass more swiftly. Besides, a true healer is only content when she is ministering to others.”

“In that event,” he replied casually as though he had just thought of it, “you had better dismiss all nonessential personnel for an early Midsummer holiday.”

Eir blinked at him in surprise. “I thank your majesty for his kind concern. Several of my novices will appreciate this greatly with Sigyn’s upcoming nuptials.”

“Ah yes, Lady Sigyn,” he said dreamily. “Her wedding is indeed iminent, is it not? She must need extra time to get ready as well.”

“Aye,” she agreed, “and such happiness could not befall a more deserving maid. She was a great favourite with the queen, I believe, may her soul rest ever in Valhalla.”

Loki’s throat constricted at the mention of his beloved mother. Grief tore at his insides with a ferocity that nearly made him gasp. He was so overwhelmed by the reopening of this raw, emotional wound that he nearly missed the full import of Eir’s words. “A great favourite…?” he repeated uncomprehendingly.

“She was briefly employed as one of her ladies-in-waiting, if you recall,” Eir said, giving him a puzzled look. “She also confided to me of her hopes for a union between-”

“Odin’s” eye was wide open now. “Between Lady Sigyn and whom?” he demanded, his pulse suddenly loud in his temples.

Lady Eir sighed heavily. “Between Lady Sigyn and the prince,” she finished softly as she let herself out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Gunnlaugs saga ormstungu_ \- This is a highly condensed version of the Icelandic _Saga of Gunnlaugr Serpent-Tongue,_ with a few of Loki's embellishments added for humour
> 
> "pattern of flowering vines on Sigyn’s door" - this is a description of Sigyn's house that comes directly from this [page](https://78.media.tumblr.com/8a1b15e967a203ef8d78fe344c8ad18f/tumblr_inline_otw61rmjRn1qi6zcz_500.jpg) (it's the left panel in the second row) of the comics. I invented the idea of her living with other unmarried healers because she is an orphan and so I wouldn't have to deal with disposal of her property when she got married.
> 
> "Loki did not see fit to inform your majesty" - Once again, even clueless Theoric can see through Loki's machinations. 
> 
> "A round of combat was sometimes all the foreplay a trickster god could get" - a direct nod to his spar with Valkyrie during _Ragnarok,_ which I believe he thoroughly enjoyed. ;)
> 
> "Six hundred years? Had it really been that long?" - Loki has lived so long that he's seemingly lost track of time. His memory may not always be completely accurate either as he didn't remember Sigyn being his mother's handmaid. Granted, for much of that time, he was on Midgard or locked in the dungeon.
> 
> “I will get into contact with S.H.I.E.L.D. immediately" - The _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ episodes featuring Sif and Lorelei actually aired in February of 2014 and this fic takes place in June 2014. Please excuse this slight fudge of continuity in an otherwise canon-compliant story.
> 
> "So much needless bloodshed could have been avoided" - You know you've lived too long inside a character's head when you start rationalizing his slaughter of eighty people in two days. lol
> 
> "Loki purposely expended more power than was strictly necessary to uphold his transformation spell" - As with all of my other descriptions of how magic works in this universe, I'm just making it up as I go, basing it on how it works in other fandoms. It is possible in the comics to expend all of one's magical energy, but it renders one unconscious. I figured that a magic user could purposely spend more mana to drain his or her stores as well.


	6. Lazy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif leaves Asgard, Mímir returns, and Sigyn has a romantic picnic with "Theoric."

Sigyn couldn’t see a sundial from her post inside the House of Healing, but judging from the angle of the sunlight that spilled through the open window of the Recovery Room, she figured it was near eleven o’clock. Her workday had been tediously boring thus far. She had already greeted the few patients that were staying there and checked and double checked their vitals. While the other healers sat around chatting about the weather and the upcoming holiday celebrations, she had made painfully detailed notes on the convalescents’ progress in each of the looseleaf logs that were kept near the foot of their beds. Now, a mere three hours into her shift, even the ever-diligent Sigyn was finding it difficult to keep occupied. Her thoughts kept straying to Theoric and the longed-for morning walk that had earlier been denied them. She wondered what he was doing at that instant. Probably reading another book, but which one? Now that she knew he loved literature as much as she did, she was eager to compare book lists to see what they had in common. She couldn’t begin to guess what his taste in authors and genres was like. He implied that he had read both the _Poetic_ and _Prose_ _Edda_ , and she knew about _Íslendingasögur,_ but what else had he read? She was jotting down a list of titles when she felt a slight nudge at her brain. Realising someone was trying to communicate with her telepathically, she let down the mental barrier that she endeavoured to keep up ever since her first meeting with Loki.

_ Ah, Sigyn!  _ came the voice of her superior. 

Sigyn squeezed her eyes closed and concentrated on transmitting her thoughts back to Lady Eir. Telepathy was not one of her strong suits. Not that she couldn’t have become proficient if she tried, but she disliked the thought of poking around in others’ minds unless absolutely necessary. Although she knew this aversion stemmed from her six-hundred year grudge against the self-proclaimed god of mischief and his penchant for mind games, she would never admit this to anyone, not even herself. 

_ What news of the Allfather? _ she asked for the second time that morning. She had been distressed to note that the Head Healer had been summoned to the palace over an hour ago. She prayed that Theoric’s assessment of Odin’s condition had not been merely optimistic. 

_ He appears to be fatigued, but I can find aught else wrong _ , Eir responded.  _ I have recommended that he remain abed for the time being. However, that is not why I have contacted you. As you are my second-in-command, I bid you to dismiss all of the Healers until further notice except for the two newest hirelings. _

Sigyn started a bit at this pronouncement.  _ Wherefore this sudden change of venue? Is something amiss? _

_ Not at all, Sigyn. His Majesty was simply concerned that the Healers have been overworked of late. I thought it would ease his already overtaxed mind if I let you out early for the Midsummer holiday. _

_ I suppose I can make do without the rest,  _ Sigyn reasoned. _ There is not much to do at the moment anyway. I will look after the apprentices until your return. _

_ Your dedication is appreciated but unnecessary,  _ Eir replied. _ I will remain in contact with them in case of any emergency. You are to have a respite as well. _

Sigyn was about to argue further but was halted by the unbidden mental image of herself and Theoric strolling through the orchard hand in hand.  _ If the king so wishes, who am I to say him nay?  _ she mused, forgetting that she was still projecting her thoughts. 

She was startled to feel Lady Eir’s laughter through their cerebral connection.  _ Who indeed? _ she sent back before ending the transmission.  

Sigyn informed the other healers of their unexpected good fortune, and they reacted to the news with a mixture of joy and incredulity that closely mirrored her own feelings. She sternly insisted that everyone leave the workplace spotless before leaving for the day, and they eagerly complied, buzzing with excited conversation. Sigyn smiled, imagining them as worker bees tempted by a bribe of sweet nectar from their illustrious Queen. She wondered where in the metaphor that placed her. Obviously, she was not a queen, but then she wasn’t a mere worker bee either. As ever in her life, even her fantasies left her as an awkward outsider with no clear role to fulfill. She sighed, removing the clean linen sheets from the clothesline in the side yard, folding them into perfect little squares which she placed in the large laundry basket.

“How now, Sigyn?” A familiar voice interrupted her uncharacteristic musings. She turned to find Sif, in her warrior’s uniform with a bulging travel pack slung over her shoulder. “You seem vexed.”

“And you seem to be on your way to a bold new adventure,” she replied, removing another clothespin. “Whither are you bound, my friend?”

“To Midgard,” she replied, determination written in all her features. “Apparently, Lorelei has somehow made her way there and is wreaking havoc among the mortals.”

Sigyn’s entire body tensed at the name. “That witch? Make haste, Lady Sif and give her a taste of your steel.”

Sif’s eternally direct gaze registered confusion. “This venom is unlike you, Sigyn. What can she have done to merit such reprobation from you of all people?”

“Can you have forgotten so soon?” Sigyn’s hand clenched tightly around the clothespin as though she hoped to crush it. 

Sudden understanding dawned on Sif. “Does that old wound yet fester? That was several centuries ago.”

“This gift of immortality has burdened me with a memory like quicksand that never lets go,” Sigyn recited with a quiet deadness. The end of the sheet she had begun to take down flapped like a crazed bird in the morning breeze. 

Sif’s eyes darted between the wayward bedding and her friend’s frigid stare. Finally, Sigyn noticed and grappled for control of the wind-tossed cloth. She released the second clothespin and the sheet relaxed, collapsing limply in her arms. Satisfied, she thrust the pins in the pocket of her uniform skirt and began to wrestle the bundle into submission with its mates. “That was a bit dramatic,” she mused as she hoisted the basket and prepared to take it indoors. 

Sif laughed softly. “I shall miss your ready wit.”

“And I shall miss your patient ear.” Sigyn placed the hamper on the stoop and ran to embrace her companion. Sif shifted the pack on her back and returned the gesture. “Dare I hope you will return in time for the wedding?” Sigyn asked, holding her friend at arm’s length. 

“I fear not,” she said with a sad smile, “but I shall attend in spirit.”

Sigyn nodded, swallowing the bitter disappointment that rose like bile in her throat. “Godspeed, Sif.” 

Sif let go of her companion and snapped her arm across her chest. “Till next we meet, Lady Sigyn.”

Sigyn smiled and felt her cheeks go pink, knowing she was undeserving of the title. She watched as the warrior marched toward the Bifrost and disappeared from view. Sigyn had never had a sister, but if she did, she could never hope for one as noble and caring as Sif.

An hour later, Sigyn finally had organized everything the way she wanted it in the House of Healing and managed to tear herself away from the apprentice healers who insisted that they would fare tolerably in her absence. Satisfied, she exited the facility and shut the front door firmly behind her. She took a deep breath of the fresh spring air, pondering what she would do with all of her newfound freetime. As she turned to leave, she almost walked right into a man who had apparently been about to enter the building. “Oh!” she gasped, nearly tripping over the stranger’s boots. “I beg your forgiveness, sir.”

She was greeted by a low rumbling chuckle as a strong arm steadied her on her feet. “‘Tis quite all right, although I expect recompense for this grave injury later.”

Sigyn’s eyes darted up into two familiar brown ones. “Theoric!” she cried, and her heart began to skip around most distractingly.   

He smiled, displaying all his perfectly spaced teeth. “Were you expecting someone else?” 

“I was expecting no one,” she protested, “else I would not have stumbled in such an embarrassing fashion. You might make a bit of noise the next time so I know you’re there.”

“But then I don’t have an excuse to do this,” he said and pulled her closer to him.

Adrenaline spiked through her at his nearness. “Theoric, we musn’t,” she said breathlessly. If he did not release her immediately, she feared her willpower would not endure for long. Why was it suddenly so hard for her to resist him? Not that she was complaining, but she did have her vow to consider.

“Why not, pray tell?” he asked, and she thought she detected a slight pout in his voice.

“Is your memory so faulty? I have made an oath never to kiss any man except my husband,” she reiterated. “I told you that the day I accepted your proposal, and you said that I was an honourable woman and all the more desirable for it.”

An inscrutable emotion flashed across Theoric’s face. “O-of course,” he stammered, but then seemed to recover himself. Stepping back slightly, he took her slender hands in his larger ones. His warm brown gaze found hers, and Sigyn nearly gasped at its intensity. “Where you are concerned, I forget nothing.”

Sparks of electricity flowed up and down Sigyn’s arms, making her feel jittery and lightheaded. “I am glad to hear it,” she whispered as she gently pulled away from his strong grasp. 

“I will take my leave of you then,” said Theoric, sorrow etched in every crevice of his chiseled face. “I would not be the cause of your ruin for anything in the world, my love.”

Sigyn’s pulse had slowed down, but now she could feel it thrumming just beneath the surface of her skin as though the slightest touch could set it racing again. “Pray, do not go, dear Theoric, for I much desire to converse with you. Your body may be forbidden for the time being, but I fain would know your mind and soul.”

“To know my mind and soul…” he trailed off thoughtfully. “Is that truly what you seek?”

“Aye,” she breathed, “‘Tis intimacy of the most sacred kind.”

Theoric’s face flickered an array of emotions, and Sigyn recognized what seemed to be astonishment and hope among them. “I am highly flattered, my Lady Sigyn. I only hope I can live up to your lofty expectations.” 

Sigyn smiled. “You have only exceeded them thus far. I daresay many more surprises lurk beneath that handsome visage.”

His lips merged into a playful grin. “If you only knew.” He offered his hand, tentatively as if he feared rejection. “Come, I have prepared a luncheon for us.”

Sigyn hesitated for only a second before lacing her fingers with his. “Lead on, sir, for I would follow you into the depths of Hel,” she said with a slight giggle before coming to the sobering realisation that she was only half in jest.

Theoric lifted an eyebrow in her direction. “That should not be necessary at present, darling, but please hold that thought.”

Due to the year-round temperate climate of the realm, most Asgardians chose to take their meals outdoors. Every once in a great while, the sunny weather was interrupted by a freak rain shower, but there was usually someone around who knew how to cast a deflection spell and send the errant drops skittering away from the dining area. The Healers had their own courtyard adjacent to the hospital in which they usually supped. Even now, Sigyn noticed her coworkers carrying their meager lunches out to the wrought iron tables. But this was clearly not the destination Theoric had in mind. He tugged her arm gently as he led her away from town toward the open fields that bordered the palace orchard. The meadows were a riot of wildflowers as they made their way toward an impenetrable copse of willows. Sigyn wondered briefly how they were going to get through it when Theoric took a sharp turn, circling around the left side of the stand of trees. Suddenly, he dropped her hand and pushed aside two branches to reveal a cozy thicket that held a heavy looking wicker hamper. He held the leaves back for her and she ducked under the canopy until he let it drop behind them.

Sigyn made a sound of delight as she looked around the little green hideaway. The leaves provided just enough shade from the sun that she was neither too hot not too cold while she stood within it. The grass beneath her sandals was lush and cool and made a pleasant rustling noise as she walked around. Grinning, Theoric removed his cloak and spread in on the ground near the basket of food. Then he sat upon it letting his long, muscular legs sprawl out before him. He leaned back against the trunk of a nearby tree and looked at her, his dark eyes sparking with mirth.

“However did you discover such a splendid place?” she asked, barely daring to raise her voice above a whisper for fear of disturbing the sanctity of the setting.

“Oh, I’ve known about it for years,” he replied, beginning to unpack their lunch and set it on the cloak beside him. “I used to come here as a boy when I wished to be alone. Now, I share it with you. As far as I know, we are the only two who are aware of its existence.” His gaze met hers and shivers of pleasure rippled throughout her entire body as she knelt down next to him.

“I am honoured that you deign to include me in your secret,” she said, lifting a chicken leg from a nearby platter. She took as delicate a bite as she could manage while still getting some of the meat in her mouth.

“You will find that I am an open book, Sigyn,” he said with a note of challenge in his voice, “if only you take the time to decipher it.” He poured some wine into a goblet and offered it to her before filling another for himself.

She took the cup, blinking in puzzlement at his words. “So you not only read books, but you claim to be one as well?” she said with a nervous laugh. “What sort of riddle is this?”

“One that only you can solve,” he said, swirling the wine around his glass. “It should be no hardship for one as clever as you.” 

Compliments always made Sigyn feel slightly uncomfortable, so she deflected his as quickly as she could. “How wicked you are!” she teased. “You know how I feel about books.” She dropped her voice to what she hoped was a sultry timbre. “I devour them by the shelf.”

Theoric, who had been in the middle of a particularly long draught, spit out the mouthful of wine. “Cruel mistress!” he moaned dramatically. “You forbid me to make love to you and yet you provoke me to it.”

Sigyn took a sip, sobering immediately. “Forgive me, Theoric. I shall endeavour not to tempt you in such a way again. It was most heartless of me, and I ardently repent of my coquetry.” 

Disappointment shrouded his face for the second time that day, and she felt properly ashamed of her words. What was the matter with her lately? She did not seem to be able to harness her tongue while in his presence today. Not only that, but she did not truly wish to do so. Being with him suddenly felt so freeing, as though all her life her soul had resided in the deepest of dungeons, but finally, daylight was beginning to penetrate the darkness. She had not been able to discourse at this level of intellect in so long. As much as she loved Sif, her friend was driven by action rather than words. She only spoke when she had something important to convey. Banter of this sort was almost unheard of in their conversations. Up until today, the same had been true of her exchanges with Theoric. But something had changed within him over the past twenty-four hours. She wasn’t sure what had caused the transformation, but she prayed it would last. For the first time since she had met him, she could actually picture what a life with him would be like, and she was pleased with what she saw.

They ate in silence for awhile, but it was not an unpleasant one. By and by, she brushed the crumbs from her lap and sat beside him, taking care not to let him view her shapely legs. “You mentioned wishing to be alone as a child. Tell me, do you come from an exceptionally large family?”

He turned to look at her, smirking as if at some private joke. “I wouldn’t say that, but I do have one particularly annoying brother who used to love following me around and making sure I never had any fun.” He paused for a moment, rethinking his answer. “Actually, that’s not really fair. I could often convince him to lighten up and enjoy himself, but sometimes he would get in moods. Had a bit of a temper actually. When he lost it, I would head for cover.” He gestured at the verdant haven surrounding them.

“So would you say you were the good brother then?” she asked curiously.

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. 

Sigyn laughed. “Well, I can’t see you as the bad one.”

Theoric’s eyes brimmed with an emotion that was impossible to decipher. “No, you never could,” he said so softly she was certain she had misheard him. She was about to ask him to explain his comment when he suddenly rose and began whisking the remains of the picnic away inside the cavernous hamper. Sigyn began to gather her own detritus, but he firmly refused her help, ushering her out of the shady copse and back into the warm sunlit air that smelled of early summer. 

“I have a few errands to attend,” he called over the clanking of china and silver. “Meet me in the orchard in an hour.” 

Sigyn shrugged. “As you wish, dear Theoric,” she said a trifle louder than her usual speaking voice. She headed back toward town, deciding she would stop by the library while she was waiting. To her surprise, Mímir was seated at the front desk, unpacking satchels of books and loading them onto an elaborately carved mahogany cart. 

“Lord Mímir,” she said with a curtsy. “What an unexpected pleasure!”

“Salutations, Sigyn,” he said in his rich baritone. “You look uncommonly radiant this afternoon. You must be in love.”

Sigyn flushed. “I thank you, m’lord. I don’t suppose you have heard the news yet. I am getting married in three weeks’ time.”

Mímir nodded sagely. “I was not aware; I am grateful for the information. However, marriage does not always signify affection. You should know that better than anyone.”

Sigyn’s cheeks flamed at his words. She had forgotten how observant the king’s librarian brother was. “Do you doubt my feelings for Theoric?” she sputtered, torn between embarrassment and indignation.

He appraised her sternly, stopping his task to stroke his greying beard. “Not this day,” he admitted. “Today you are hopelessly, irretrievably infatuated with  _ someone _ . Whether or not that signifies true unconditional love remains to be seen.”

“Was I not in love with Theoric before today?” she asked saucily. 

Mímir shook his head, an almost imperceptible gesture. “Nay, I do not believe you were.” Deep frown lines creased his weathered forehead. “Permission to perform counterspell measures?” he asked suddenly.

Sigyn’s eyes widened, sending her dark brows into her forehead. “If you deem it necessary, m’lord.”

Mímir set down the book he was holding, closed his eyes, and waved a hand over Sigyn. Her blonde, braided hair darkened to her natural raven in a ripple of pink light, but nothing else seemed to happen. “Hmm,” was all he said. “Well, it appears you are not under the influence of a love enchantment. ‘Tis a relief, to be sure. Everything about you seems the same, so it must be your betrothed who is altered.” 

“He is, in a manner of speaking,” she began, craning her neck to read the titles of the new books on the cart. “Theoric has been much more attentive to me of late. Since his return from the battlefield, he has been thoughtful, introspective, amorous, and even a bit cheeky. I did find it a bit odd at first, but now I am convinced that this was his true nature all the while. The bloodthirsty soldier must be a disguise he wears to cope with the cruelties of war.”

“A disguise?” Mímir scratched his head. “I suppose that’s entirely possible.” He turned to the cart and selected a slender volume, handing it to her. “I recommend this title. I acquired it on my most recent voyage to Midgard.” The gold lettering on the cover read  _ Cyrano de Bergerac- _ Edmond Rostand.  

Sigyn idly flipped through the pages. “‘Tis a play!” she exclaimed in surprise and delight.

“Aye,” he agreed as he unbuckled another satchel, “and a tragic one at that. Yet I feel it should be of some interest to you.” His tone of voice underscored a deeper meaning than the mere words could indicate.

“I shall read it as soon as I have a moment,” she said, tucking the book in one of the wide pockets of her skirt. “For now, I have an important engagement that cannot be delayed.” She shook her hair back into the gold plaits that had adorned her head when she had first entered the library.

“With Theoric, I’d wager,” he said bluntly. Sigyn noticed he did not lift his eyes as he finished his task. 

“Who else?” she replied brightly as she skipped back out the door.

“Who else indeed,” he wondered, sitting down at his desk and resting his head thoughtfully in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poetic Edda and Prose Edda - the sources for most of our knowledge of Norse mythology. I know I said I wasn't going to make Sigyn read them, but I couldn't resist. Please humour me and assume the versions she has are incomplete and do not speak of her marriage to Loki or Ragnarok, as that would make for odd continuity.
> 
> Sigyn's grudge against Lorelei - This is a plot point that I have invented which will come into play later. It does not exist in the comics.
> 
> Loki's secret copse - Also my invention, although it stands to reason that he would have to have someplace to hide from Thor when he's being annoying.
> 
> Cyrano de Bergerac - As I mentioned in an earlier author's note, this play features a plot reminiscent of this story. Roxane is enamoured of beautiful but dim soldier Christian. Unbeknownst to her, her childhood friend and troublemaker, Cyrano, writes epic love declarations for Christian when the idiot warrior proves unable to woo her himself. Roxane marries Christian, not discovering the truth until years later when her husband has died and Cyrano has been dealt a mortal blow in a duel.


	7. I'm Gonna Make You Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki plays hide-and-seek with Sigyn and steals her book.

Loki waited until he heard the door latch solidly before he returned to his true form. He felt his ordinarily chilly blood beginning to pulse with heat as he tried to process what Eir had just told him. Sigyn- _his_ Sigyn-with Thor? The very thought was absolutely unconscionable. Enraged, he grabbed a tumbler of water that one of his attendants had left on his night stand and threw it across the room, spilling its contents everywhere.

Suddenly, the door flew back open and Skurge blustered into the room. “Is everything alright, Allfather?” he asked, his hand on his rusty scabbard.

Loki gave a strangled yelp until he remembered that Skurge already knew Odin’s true identity. “How dare you enter without knocking!” he boomed in Odin’s voice.

“Apologies, Lord Loki,” he said sotto voce, as he quickly closed and latched the door.

Loki sighed dramatically and hastily conjured a ward to muffle their voices. “You really are terrible at subterfuge,” he muttered dryly.

“Why is it that everytime I see you, you have returned to your natural shape?” his new minion asked, looking perplexed.

“Because I am a lazy selfish entitled knave,” he retorted, bitterness underlying the sulk in his voice.  
.  
Skurge guffawed, slapping his knee. “A splendid jest, Your Majesty.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Anyway, you can perceive that I am perfectly fine, so feel free to shuffle off whence you came.”

Skuge shrugged and marched back into the hallway, his armour clanging with every step.

Loki leaned back against his headboard, his arms crossed defiantly. Was there no escaping the shadow of Thor even when the moron was millions of miles away on Midgard, mooning over some mewling female? His brother had refused the throne, leaving him free to wrest it from their father by trickery and become the supreme ruler of the greatest of all the Nine Realms. Why was it that he still felt like a second-class citizen?

But the deepest wound of all was that his mother, Frigga...his own mother who had loved him more than anyone else ever did, had wanted Sigyn to be with his bloody perfect annoying brother. He wondered how he had not known about this outrage earlier. Perhaps she had never voiced her wishes regarding Thor and Sigyn to anyone but Eir. Considering the fact that Odin had always preferred Sif, this should come as no surprise. He cast his mind back, trying to recall if she had ever hinted toward this desire during any of their previous conversations, but slogging through nearly fifteen hundred years of memory was no easy task. As he rooted around the recesses of his mind, brief images of Sigyn in his mother’s service flashed before him. He had completely disremembered the relationship was there until Eir had mentioned it. But then, he had been rather preoccupied-first on Midgard and then in the bowels of the Asgardian dungeon, while she had held that position. On the farthest edges of his consciousness, long-forgotten hours he had spent with Sigyn were beginning to resurface. They had been close once before, he suddenly remembered. Why had it come to an end?

On one of the last days of their friendship, he had been practicing concealment spells in a twisted version of hide and seek. He would pick a room in the palace and cast the charm, and Sigyn would use her own seidr magic to find him. When they first began the game, his wards were incredibly flimsy, and Sigyn could locate him within a matter of minutes. However, as the day wore on, his concentration improved, and he was able to fool her for a few hours at a time.

By the late afternoon, Loki was growing quite bored of this challenge and decided to add to the thrill by sneaking into Valhalla and sitting on the throne. His father was offworld on some boring diplomatic mission and had taken Thor with him, so he had no fear of detection by those two. He knew that cautious, rule-abiding Sigyn wouldn’t ever dream of coming in here to look for him, so he didn’t bother putting much effort into the enchantment. He was enjoying the power he felt just by sitting there and imagining how much better it would be if he had the royal scepter in his hand when a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Have you no shame, Loki?”

He turned to see his mother entering the room from a side door, shaking her head at him in an odd mixture of disappointment and amusement.

“Mother!” he said with a bit of a squeak as he leapt from the throne. The concealment spell burst like a bubble. “I had no notion that you would-”

“Of course you didn’t,” she responded. “Or you would have spent more energy on that embarrassingly weak ward. I could still see you. Your image was transparent, but I could tell you were there. Worse than that, I could sense your power signature from another room. Have I taught you nothing?”

Loki lowered his head briefly. “I’m sorry, Mother, but you should have seen me-or, rather, not seen me-earlier. It took Sigyn two hours to find me in Thor’s wardrobe.” He was far more pleased about this achievement than he had a right to be, but Frigga smiled indulgently nonetheless.

“I am glad to hear it,” she replied, still beaming. Then, she grew thoughtful. “Am I imagining it, or did I see Sigyn wandering around the corridors looking lost a few minutes ago?”

Loki grinned. “She really has no idea that I’m in here, does she? How delightful. Serves her right for being so damned proficient with that binding enchantment all day.”

Frigga frowned slightly. “Sigyn is gifted in seidr as well as healing incantations? That is a rare talent indeed, especially in someone with commoner blood.”

Loki’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “There is nothing common about Sigyn, Mother.”

Frigga raised her eyebrows. “I meant no disrespect toward your companion. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m impressed that you’ve found someone so accomplished in the mystic arts to help you with your training.”

The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile once again. “I can surround myself with suitable company when I so choose. As long as Thor isn’t around to frighten them away with his blustering and bad manners, that is.”

“Sigyn and Thor do not share peaceable discourse?” Frigga seemed genuinely surprised at the notion.

“I would not go so far as to say that,” Loki returned. “But you know how he can be. One frequently desires to bash his pate into the wall.”

Frigga shook her head. “Come now, Loki. You and Thor have been inseparable since you arrived in this family. You love each other more than anyone else in the Nine Realms, and you will never convince me otherwise.”

“Believe what you like,” Loki said with a shrug. “I still find him to be a bloody nuisance at times.”

Just then, the door to the great hall creaked open, and Sigyn tentatively stepped into the room. Panicking, Loki quickly waved an arm and faded from view.

“Queen Frigga, is that you?” Sigyn called from the other end of the grand room. Her voice echoed down the length of the hall, raising a prickle of gooseflesh on his arm. She had seen him for certes. Confusticate her and her wretched timing. He crouched down beside the throne as though making himself as small as possible would help with the concealment charm.

She approached the throne timidly, her pale yellow train trailing behind her on the marble floor. Loki held his breath and concentrated on blending into his surroundings while dampening the aura of his magic against her uncanny powers of detection.

Frigga smiled encouragingly at her as the healer swept up her skirt into a low curtsey. “Aye, ‘tis me, child. Have no fear of chastisement. You have committed no trespass by coming here.”

“I beg your pardon, majesty,” she replied in a voice so low, Loki could barely hear her. “I could have sworn I sensed a hostile intruder in here.” Her dark blue eyes scanned the area around the throne, and Loki willed his pulse to slow down so she wouldn’t notice it banging hard against his sternum. “I must have been mistaken. Forgive me, my queen.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Sigyn,” the queen responded, inclining her head.

Sigyn’s face relaxed and she managed a shy smile in return. She gathered up her skirt once again and seemed about to leave when she unexpectedly stared right at him. “Nice try,” she whispered as she spun on her heel and began the long walk back toward the doors.

Loki was so startled that he immediately lost control of both the ward and his balance and sat down hard with an ungraceful thud. Sigyn didn’t even bother to turn around, but Frigga took one look at him in his sorry state and burst out laughing.

Heat rushed to his face as he scrambled to his feet. “Sigyn, wait!”

She stopped in the middle of the hall, but made no move to face him. He soon reached her and grabbed her by the shoulders, spinning her around until he forced her to look at him. “Well?” she said, her eyes sparkling as he panted slightly from the effort of running after her.

She was so comely standing there in her gown of buttercup yellow. The fact that she had actually dared to seek him in this forbidden chamber only enhanced his attraction to her. Before he knew what he was doing, he said breathlessly, “Come to my chambers tomorrow after supper.”

Sigyn’s complexion paled, and she cast her gaze to the floor. “What kind of girl do you take me for?” she said in a hushed yet indignant tone.

He immediately realised his mistake. Sigyn was nothing like the other goddesses he had dallied with in the past. As far as he knew, she was still a maid. He quickly decided to distract her from his careless proposition. “The kind who likes books,” he said with what he hoped was nonchalance.

Her eyes widened with excitement. “You mean to say that I can finally see your library?” Hope radiated from every corner of her face.

“Mayhaps,” he said noncommittally, secretly relieved that his diversion had worked. “That is, if you have nothing better to do.”

“I would cancel any appointment you could name in a trice,” she insisted with a giggle. Then, much to his astonishment, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his cheek.

Loki stumbled backward a bit in surprise. His long fingers absently traced the spot where she had kissed him. Sigyn’s face suddenly darkened to a deep crimson. Without another word, she turned and fled the room.

“Loki?” his mother asked as she appeared over his shoulder. “What happened?” She circled around in from of him. “You look as though you’d just been slapped.”  
  
“I honestly have no idea,” he replied, dazed. “Clearly the creature is besotted of me, though I know not why.”  
  
“For the cleverest man in Asgard, sometimes you can be such a fool,” she said fondly and left him alone with his dizzying thoughts.

Loki couldn’t recall precisely how he had been feeling on that day, but he knew that his entire being had been in turmoil. He thought he understood what his mother had meant by her dismissive words, but now, sitting sprawled on the massive gilded four-post bed that he had usurped from his father, he was not so sure. She had called him a fool, but was it for taking so long to notice Sigyn’s girlish crush on him or for misinterpreting her affection as something more than it was? He sighed, tilting his head back until it hit the headboard with a satisfying thump. She was right, of course, as she always had been. He truly was a fool. Obviously, Sigyn had been simply enamoured with his position and awed by his celebrity. She hadn’t really cared about him personally. She had just been a...what did the Midgardians call it? A “fangirl”? Yes, that sounded right. She had been his one, his only “fangirl,” which he supposed was flattering in and of itself considering how many his ridiculous brother had. But that was all. She hadn’t truly known him, known his mind and soul. If she had, her sweet, innocent nature would have been scandalised, and she would have run away from him without a backwards glance.

But all that was different now. This time, he had a clear advantage. Disguised as Theoric, it would be almost too easy to turn her head and make her fall in love with him. Hiding behind the Crimson Hawk’s pristine history as a loyal soldier to the crown, all he had to do was act reasonably charming, and her naive, girlish heart wouldn’t be able to resist him. There was no need to go into any elaborate backstory, especially since she seemed to detest any mention of his battlefield heroics. Not to mention that the awkward and aloof way Theoric had behaved previously had probably left her starving for any kind of affection whatsoever. The date of her impending wedding had given him three weeks to insinuate himself into her heart-and her bed. At the rate things were going, it would take far less than that. However, he couldn’t do anything while confined to his bed. After pondering the situation for a moment, he released the ward that soundproofed the room and feebly called for Skurge.

“Yes, your majesty!” he called with far too much perk in his voice.

Loki quickly raised the ward again with an imperceptible flick of his fingers. “Remember when you said you would do anything at all for me?”

Skurge’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes?”

Loki jumped to his feet and pointed at the bed. “I need you to be me for a while.”

Skurge scratched his bald head. “You Loki or you Odin?”

“Is Loki the one who fell ill at the banquet last night?” he asked in annoyance.

“Alright, alright, I was just making sure,” he protested, climbing into the four-post monstrosity.

Loki cringed to see how much the bedframe shook as he rearranged his bulky frame. Sighing, he sent a ripple of green energy at his new bodyguard, transforming him into the image of his estranged father. “I am unused to sustaining a transformation spell remotely, so I am not certain how effective it will be once I am out of the vicinity. Your voice and appearance should be a reasonable facsimile of the Allfather’s no matter how far I remove myself from this place, but I wouldn’t test it unless absolutely necessary. With any luck, Lady Eir will procrastinate and wait until I have returned to examine me. I mean, you. I mean-”

“Not so easy is it, mate?” quipped Skurge. “‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave…’”

“Do not quote Scott to me!” Loki snapped, and Skurge shrank away from him.

Skurge nodded and pulled the covers up to his chin. He looked so pathetic and sickly just lying there, almost as the true Allfather had during his last Odinsleep. Loki shook off any unhelpful feelings of pity and transformed himself into Skurge. His lips curved upwards in a manner far too mischievous for the warrior as he contemplated the afternoon ahead. Sigyn was as good as his.

******************************

Sigyn would never be his! Theoric exited the idyllic copse feeling anything but. The dishes in the picnic basket clinked together excitedly as he strode back toward the castle. He hoped he broke a few of them on his way. He hated to admit it, but the cause of his anguish was that infuriating voice inside of him, the one that told him that he would never be enough no matter what he tried. Hearing Sigyn’s declaration that he couldn’t possibly be the “bad brother” had stirred up all those feelings of inadequacy once again. The worst part was that it made absolutely no sense. He had obviously fooled her into thinking he was a good person. He should be overjoyed, confident that his scheme of winning her affection was working. Instead, he felt that old familiar despair creeping into his heart again. She might think that about him now, but if she ever truly knew him, ever saw the darkness of his inner thoughts, she would be repulsed by him. Her purity couldn’t bear to be tainted by his twisted machinations.

Speaking of her purity, what was wrong with the maidens of today, making such ridiculous vows of chastity until marriage? Didn’t they realise that a man had needs? He could hear Thor’s laughter in his head from across the Nine Realms. He would bet anything that the bastard had known about Sigyn’s prudery when he challenged him to woo her, especially since they were apparently intended to be with each other in Frigga’s mind. It would be just like his brother to send him unarmed into an unwinnable battle. Anger flared in his very bones, threatening to consume him. Damn them both to the depths of Hel!

Presently, cool reason began to reassert itself and calm his raging thoughts. This was a setback, to be sure, but only a minor one. As long as he made certain that Theoric stayed away until after the wedding, he still would be able to seduce her, thus winning the bet. Of course, this meant he would actually have to _marry_ her, but that was a minor inconvenience. The fact that Asgardian law did not permit divorce didn’t bother him in the slightest. She would be making her vows to Theoric, so it was to him that she would be shackled for the rest of her existence. He would escape out the other side of this marriage completely unscathed. With any luck, she would be none the wiser about his deception for a good while. Or at least until she was subjected to her moron husband’s pathetic lovemaking. He ignored the pangs of jealousy at the thought of someone else being with her in that way and set his mind to the afternoon ahead.

An hour later, he found her at the edge of the orchard, sitting under the same apple tree where he had found her book the evening before. He grinned and crept slowly up behind her to see what she was reading:

 **CYRANO**  
But Roxane, darling,  
You know how you love poetry, fine language -  
Suppose this boy’s a dull uncultured clod!

 **ROXANE**  
He can’t be, look at his hair!

 **CYRANO**  
His hair! Is that it?

 **ROXANE**  
He simply must be eloquent, I know it!  
He couldn’t look like that and be a savage.

 **CYRANO**  
Well, handsome does as handsome is, I dare say  
But if he’s stupid. . .

 **ROXANE**  
Then I’ll die, so there!

Loki frowned as he looked back and forth between her and the book. What a strange coincidence that she should be reading this particular book right now. In fact, it was downright providential. Of course, he didn’t believe in providence, which could only mean one thing…

“Mímir’s back, I take it,” he said softly, leaning down to whisper.

Sigyn dropped the book and gasped, placing her hand over her heart. “You gave me a fright, Theoric!” she said, turning to face him. The accusation in her eyes was comical despite its ferocity.

Loki felt the slightest bit guilty, but couldn’t smother a chuckle. “My apologies, dear. I couldn’t resist.” He kissed her lightly on the top of her head as he sat down beside her. He intercepted her hand as it reached for the fallen book. He held it upside-down and squinted. “Well, this is a bit rubbish, isn’t it?”

Sigyn rolled her eyes. “Turn it right side up, you idiot,” she said with a giggle, but he kept the book out of reach so she couldn’t flip it around for him.

“Look, Sigyn,” he said, setting the book down on the side opposite the grabbing goddess. “I like a good book as much as anyone, but I also know that our time together is precious. We Asgardians like to believe that we live forever, but in some ways, we’re every bit as mortal as the inhabitants of Midgard.” He looked at her with what he hoped was an earnest expression. “This is especially clear to someone like me who is constantly involved in battle. The point I’m trying to make is that a good soldier knows that any fight could potentially be his last. I am on furlough now, ‘tis true, but at any moment, the Allfather could summon me, and I would have to go. With that in mind, I prefer to spend as much time as possible with the ones I love. At this moment, that list has pretty much been narrowed down to you.” He rested his pointer finger lightly on the tip of her nose, and she smiled shyly back at him.

“So, what you’re saying is that you want to _talk_ to me about books instead of watching me read them,” she said, reaching up to remove his large calloused hand with both of her smooth, slender ones. Instead of immediately giving it back to him, she held it between her own, brushing it gently on the side of her rosy cheek.

Loki held his breath as she moved his hand across her face. Would this wonderful, beautiful, affectionate women ever stop surprising him? Desire began to well up inside him again. “Well, we don’t have to talk about books,” he replied as he gently extricated his fingers from hers. “But you’ve got the general idea.”

Sigyn’s smile widened as she stood up and brushed a few apple blossoms off her lap. “Shall we walk?” she suggested, waving toward the rest of the orchard.

Loki sprang to his feet, spiriting the book away under his cloak. Then, he offered her his arm, and they began to walk down the dirt path that divided the trees. As they meandered between the peaches and plums conversing about everything and nothing, Sigyn leaned into his shoulder and traced her fingers absently against his arm. Once again, he was overwhelmed by the warmth and tenderness of her touch. He sighed, hoping it would never end, but secretly knowing such happiness couldn’t possibly last. He had avoided catastrophe for the moment by hiding the book that his meddling uncle had clearly given to her as a hint to his true identity. How the old codger had figured out his plan was a mystery to him, but he wasn’t the god of wisdom and knowledge for nothing. He would have to send him away on another “sabbatical” anon. But it seemed that no matter how many interferers he got out of his way, another one arrived to thwart him once more. If he believed in fate, he might consider himself and Sigyn to be “star-crossed lovers” or some such nonsense. But he was master of his own destiny, and he would surmount this self-imposed challenge if it killed him. And it just might, if the way she was making him feel right now was any indication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seidr - an art that the ancient Norse peoples used to practise. It is a specific type of magic (typically attributed to Freya and Odin), concerned with discerning the course of fate and working within its structure to bring about change, which was done by symbolically weaving new events into being. There were rituals for divination and clairvoyance; for seeking out the hidden, both in the secrets of the mind and in physical locations; for healing the sick; for bringing good luck; for controlling the weather; for calling game animals and fish. Importantly, it could also be used for the opposite of these things. Seidr is literally translated as "cord, string, or snare." Since Sigyn is referred to as the "incantation-fetter" or "spellbinder" in various artifacts, it made sense to me that she might also wield this power. 
> 
> Valhalla - the comics refer to Odin's throne room as Valhalla. In the original mythology, Valhalla is actually the afterlife granted to those who die a warrior's death.
> 
> "But Roxane, darling" - This is from a scene early in the play where Cyrano and Roxane are discussing her infatuation with Christian. Much like Sigyn, Roxane is attracted to intelligence more than she is to physical beauty. Loki recognises the scene and realises that the love triangle in the play too closely mirrors the situation between himself, Sigyn, and Theoric. This will obviously not do.


	8. River of Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki makes a promise he doesn't intend to keep, and Sigyn discovers Franang's Falls.

Sigyn had never really taken the time to really look at the orchard outside the castle before. She had sat under her favourite apple tree often enough over the past thousand years or so, using her scant free time to read a few chapters in her favourite novels, but she never dared venture down the pleasant path that wound through the various fruit groves. Even back when she was a familiar face around these parts some six-hundred odd years ago, her companions Sif and Thor had much preferred the open lawns at the rear of the imposing structure to the closeness of the trees. For one thing, it was a lot easier to get impaled during a sparring match with heavy-laden branches poking you from every side. As for Loki...she tried not to think about her time with him much, but as she recalled, he was more of an indoor sort of person anyway. He would rather be sequestered in his chambers with his books or practising spells under the watchful eye of Queen Frigga. She even seemed to recall a laboratory of sorts where she would sit talking to him for hours while he perfected one of his potions for enabling quick getaways from his mischief. Anyway, there was no point dwelling on the past, especially when the present was so agreeable. She breathed deeply of the fresh Asgardian air that hinted of blossoms about to ripen into plums. She could not remember ever feeling this blissfully at peace before in her entire life. At this moment, the entire world seemed open and welcoming, and she had the beautiful man at her side to thank for that. Impulsively, she placed her head on his shoulder as he talked, skating her fingers across his muscular arms as they continued along the dusty road. He didn’t seem to notice for a moment. Then suddenly, she felt his pectorals contract as though she were causing him pain.

“What is it?” she asked, gingerly extricating himself from him. She frowned as she realised that he had been the one to pull away when she had placed his hand on her cheek earlier. Was she that repulsive to him?

“We are going to have to go easy on the touching if you want me to help you keep that vow, my love,” he said in a low voice.

Sigyn blinked for a moment as she tried to make sense of his statement. Then she felt the heat creeping up her neck as his meaning became clear. “Oh,” she said softly. She couldn’t see her face at the moment, but she was certain that it was as ruddy as the apples that would soon be ripening nearby. “Once again, I apologise.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Not to worry, darling. I’m not the one who’d be going back on his word.”

She gave him a half smile as they came toward the end of the path. Just a little further was the wall that surrounded the palace grounds and beyond that, the Bifrost and the rest of the Capital City sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine. Between orchard and the outer perimeter of the garden were several larger trees, some of which she recognized as oaks and maples. On one of the branches of a larger tree hung an old wooden swing that looked as though it hadn’t been used for quite a few years. Sigyn was enchanted by this unexpected surprise and ran over to inspect its integrity.

“I’d forgotten this was out here,” murmured Theoric as she tugged at the metal chains, testing the branch on which they were suspended.

“‘Tis sound, I believe,” she said and seemed about to sit down on the swing when her brow suddenly creased in concern.

“Is something amiss?” Theoric asked as he approached.

“No, ‘tis simply that I am still in my work clothes, and I hate to muss them for a bit of silly fun,” she looked down at her teal work dress and sighed.

“Live a little, Sigyn!” Theoric insisted, his brown eyes sparkling. He gave her a slight shove and she sat down hard on the wooden seat. “Life is far too short to follow the rules all the time. Even when your lifespan is as long as ours are.”

Her eyes widened, and she was about to protest when Theoric disappeared behind her and she felt the swing starting to move. “Wait! Theoric!” She heard his rumbling laughter as he continued to push her from behind.

“If you want to get off, you’re going to have to jump!” he called as the swing rapidly gained momentum.

“And risk tearing my dress or landing in a heap? I think not,” she replied, gasping a bit at the quick rate of acceleration.

“Suit yourself.”

Sigyn felt both exhilarated and a bit dizzy flying over the sparse plant life at the edge of the orchard. She could even see over the wall on the backswing and wondered if any of the people on the other side could see her. She knew she probably looked ridiculous; a grown woman in the uniform of the healers on a playground toy, but at the moment, she didn’t care. All that mattered to her was how lovely the orchard looked as she swung toward it and how intoxicating it felt to have the breeze rushing by her as she flew higher and higher. She couldn’t see her betrothed from her perch on top of the world, but she imagined that he was smiling as much as she was. She sighed in contentment, wishing this happiness could last forever.

Finally, Theoric seemed to bore of this activity and came around to the front, far enough away so that she didn’t kick him accidentally. Sigyn pumped her legs for a few moments, but it was tiring trying to retain her previous altitude without assistance. She let the swing wind down on its own, gazing fondly at him all the while. “You mentioned something about Mímir earlier?” she said casually. She had wondered how he had deduced the librarian’s return, but he had managed to steer the conversation so deftly earlier that she had not had a chance to broach the subject until now.

“Hmm?” he said vaguely. “Did I?”

Sigyn leapt from the swing, only stumbling slightly as she landed. Theoric steadied her, letting his hands linger longer than was strictly necessary. She was suddenly glad that the long sleeves of her gown shielded her from his touch. She wasn’t sure she could handle the sensation of his bare skin on hers. The way her emotions were at present, she might spontaneously combust. “Yes, you asked me if he had returned,” she insisted despite her flushed cheeks.

“Oh, that,” he said with an air of complete and utter indifference. “I merely hadn’t seen that book in the library before, so I assumed…”

“Speaking of which,” Sigyn said, palm outstretched. “I’d like it back.”

An unreadable look came over his face. “I see how it is,” he said with a wounded expression. “Well, if you’d rather read than spend time with me…”

Sigyn wasn’t sure, but she had the sudden impression that he was trying to manipulate her already overwhelmed emotions. She glared at him with all she was worth, but her attempt to chastise him was met with a derisive laugh. “Fine, you win.” He reached into his cloak for the book but came back empty-handed, a look of confusion on his face. “What the?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost it!” she cried in despair. “That doesn’t belong to me, you know. How will I ever explain to Lord Mímir that I’ve already mislaid one of his new books?”

“Calm yourself, darling; it’s just a book,” he said, and she didn’t appreciate his placating tone in the slightest.

“Just a book?” she challenged him, hands on her hips. “Just a book!? Do you know how many books I have checked out of the library? Hundreds, thousands, mayhaps. And exactly how many have I failed to return? Not a one! Not a single blessed one until today! What will this do do my reputation? I won’t be able to face Mímir after this!?”

“Your reputation?” he asked, seeming genuinely confused.

“As one of the best library patrons that Asgard has ever known!” she screeched, aware of the tinge of crazed hysteria in her voice, yet unable to curb it.

Theoric held his hands out as though in an attempt to ward off her inane ramblings. “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere. And even if it’s not, it can be replaced.”

“He brought that all the way here from Midgard.” She poked him hard in the chest with each syllable. “He will have to travel back there to get a new copy. Ooh!” She pulled at her flaxen braids in frustration. “I don’t think I can be with someone who doesn’t take books as seriously as I do.”

“Sigyn,” he began with a slightly shaky laugh, “aren’t you overreacting a bit?”

“Overreacting?!” She gave him her most withering stare and was pleased to note that he shrank from it the tiniest bit. “Books are like children to me, Theoric. They are precious and dear and must be loved accordingly.”

“I love books as much as you do, sweetheart, but…” he trailed off thoughtfully, muttering something that sounded vaguely like: “If I promised you some real children would you settle down already?”

Sigyn’s mouth dropped in shock. What an odd thing to say! As if he wasn’t planning to have children with her before this conversation started.

“Never mind,” he said, backtracking both literally and figuratively. “Let’s just look for the blasted thing already.”

“I suppose we will have to retrace our steps,” she said, still dazed by his previous statement. She started back down the orchard path, scanning the landscape as she went.

She was immediately aware of his footsteps behind her, but she refused to turn and look at him. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Presently, they reached the beginning of the winding track and she felt him gently nudge her arm as he turned her around to face him. “I’m truly sorry about the book, Sigyn. Can you ever possibly find it in your heart to forgive me this cardinal sin?” His dark eyes pleaded with her, reminding her of a family pet who had been caught rooting around in the dustbin.

She let out a slow breath, her eyes darting away. “Of course,” she said, although it nearly choked her to say it. Forgiveness had never been one of her strong suits. Perhaps that was why she had developed the bad habit of rationalizing and defending other’s mistakes. Once she actually had determined that repentance was required, she was loath to offer her absolution until the offender had paid his penance in full. However, he did seem properly contrite, and it was just a silly book after all. It wasn’t as though he had done anything truly terrible.

“I thank you, milady,” he said with a bow. “I don’t know if I could bear it if you were angry with me.”

“I am generally slow to wrath,” she said, “but once my ire is good and truly stirred, there is no easy way to quell it.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” he said. The slight hint of fear on his face was comical, and a bit endearing. She couldn’t hide a small smirk as they headed back toward her dwelling and the supper that was waiting there for them.

***************************

Over the next week or so, Sigyn and Theoric became inseparable. Anyone who knew either of them remarked on the situation with amusement and delight. Sigyn’s fellow healers peppered her with questions every night when she returned home from yet another excursion with her beloved. What did they do together? What did they find to talk about? Why the sudden change in her behaviour toward him? Sigyn made sure her answers were vague enough to afford herself and Theoric some level of privacy, but gave a few choice details so that they would leave her presently and allow to savour her newfound happiness in the solitude of her room. But as giddy as his mere presence made her feel, she couldn’t help noticing that there was something off about him. His edges were sharper than the Theoric of old, and his moods more changeable. At times, he would stare into the distance and a dark brooding look would descend on his countenance. Whenever she asked him about it, he would immediately laugh and quickly change the subject. Several times, he made comments about others that were quite rude and condescending albeit completely true. She couldn’t help but find his ready wit charming, although she sometimes wondered if his intellect would be put to better use in building people up rather than making sport of them. In nearly every respect, he was a completely different Theoric than the one she had promised to marry, and it bothered her that she wasn’t more concerned at this change in personality.

Every day, they took at least one walk that led them through the forest bordering the palace. Several times, they saw the same river winding lazily through the trees. The first time they happened upon it, Theoric made a disgusted face and immediately turned back whence they had come. The second time, he was about to do the same, when she tugged his arm in protest. Grumbling, he went with her as she followed the water until they reached a shallow juncture where they could easily cross.

Today, the Asgardian sun was beating down in a more unforgiving manner than usual. Sigyn felt a most unbecoming wetness begin to trickle down her back as they travelled their usual path. Even the shade the trees provided seemed unequal to the task of protecting them from the blistering heat. Sigyn was damp and sticky and exhausted by the time they reached the river. She wasn’t normally one to complain about the weather, but the heavy, close air was making her yearn for the frigid snows of Jotunheim. She glanced at Theoric who seemed to be unaffected by the unseasonable temperature. Typical.

“What is it?” he asked as she stopped to rest on a fallen log.

Sigyn put a hand to his lips. “Sh! I hear something.”

He cocked his head but didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. “What are we listening for?” he whispered in her ear, causing her to shiver and giggle at the same time.

“The water,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s faster in this part of the forest. I wonder…” She stood up and began to follow the rushing sound downstream.

“Sigyn!” he called, his boots crunching as he ran after her. “Where are you going?”

“You’ll see!” Her heart had picked up its pace until it was pounding as quickly as her feet down the slippery banks. She looked over her shoulder to see Theoric following closely behind with a baffled expression on his face. She grinned and turned her eyes back toward the widening river.

Several minutes later she was rewarded by a stunning vista. The water dropped off suddenly, crashing with abandon onto the rocks below. The water spread out from there into a beautiful pristine lake whose shoreline was adorned with lush foliage and magnificent stone formations. Sigyn gasped at the wildness of it all; at the fresh scent of the water as it misted in the air. Nothing in the Nine Realms was going to keep her on dry land now. In an instant, her skirt slid to the ground and her hands fumbled frantically at her stays.

All the colour drained from Theoric’s face. “What are you doing?” he demanded as she yanked her kirtle over her head, leaving her wearing nothing but a pale pink chemise.

She raised her eyebrows at him, and, slipping off her sandals, began to climb down the vines that clung to the cliff face. Torn between what seemed to be terror and desire, he looked at her, looked back at the pile of clothing on the forest floor and then looked down toward the pounding water. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no!”

“Get down here, you coward!” she yelled up at him in exasperation once she had reached the bottom.

“I beg your pardon?” he said, affronted despite the deathly pallor of his skin.

“You heard me,” she teased, not knowing how she dared to be so cheeky. “Is the big strong warrior afraid of getting a little wet?”

Theoric knit his brows together, his dark eyes flashing. “I fear nothing, Lady Sigyn,” he insisted. “How dare you suggest such a thing!”

“I tire of your empty words,” she called mockingly. “Pray, put them to the test for once.” She dashed down the shoreline a few hundred feet before turning and jumping into the water.

Oh, it was blessedly cold! Sigyn swam under the water, carefully avoiding the weeds that sprouted thickly from the bottom of the lake. She was briefly startled by a sleek salmon as it made its way back toward the river. She secretly wished it luck getting upstream. Sigyn shivered with delight as she surfaced and began to tread water, looking back toward the waterfall for Theoric. She frowned when she noticed that he wasn’t where she had left him. She was about to climb out and look for him when she heard a yelp and a splash from behind her. She turned and saw Theoric flailing in the water near the shore, desperately trying to stay afloat and failing miserably. Stifling a smile, she swam over to him.

“Put your feet down,” she instructed as she paddled near him. “‘Tis shallow here by the shore.”

Theoric continued to thrash for a moment before her words registered and he gingerly stepped on the rocks beneath him. “Oh,” he said sheepishly as he stood in water that barely rose to his waist.

“I am dreadfully sorry, Theoric,” she said, standing next to him. “I was not aware that you didn’t know how to swim.”

“Never found the need to learn,” he explained, folding his arms across his bare chest. “Soldiers don’t spend much time in the water, you know.”

Sigyn found her eyes inexorably drawn to the curly brown hairs that peeked over his crossed arms. She didn’t have to look at her reflection in the water to know that her cheeks were likely the same colour as her undergarments. “I could teach you to swim,” she said, averting her gaze. “That is, if you wish it.”

For a moment, the only thing either of them heard was the sound of the falls roaring behind them. Then, Theoric spoke. “I suppose since you like the water so much, I should probably get used to being in it myself,” he said reluctantly.

Sigyn looked up at him, her pulse racing. He was willing to participate in an activity that clearly made him uncomfortable merely to please her. She could not be more flattered if he told her she was the most beautiful goddess in all of Asgard. “Lean back,” she said firmly, “and let your legs float upwards like this.” She demonstrated, lying back on the surface of the lake as if it were as solid as a feather mattress. After a few minutes, she put her feet back down on the lakebed. “Now you try.”

Theoric’s mouth twitched a bit as she waded over to him. “Relax,” she said soothingly. “I won’t let you drown.”

He nodded slowly and tried to imitate what he had just seen her do. As he leaned back, he tried to lift his legs so that they hovered near the surface as hers had. However, his torso seemed to have other ideas, and he began to sink almost immediately as though his body was full of lead. Sigyn calmly reached toward him under the water, placing one hand at the small of his back and the other arm underneath his thighs. She was careful not to touch the region in between her two hands although she was surprised to discover she wanted to do so very much. She felt him tense involuntarily as their skin met, but fortunately, he seemed preoccupied with not drowning and didn’t react beyond that.

She held him like this for what seemed an eternity as he stared at the sky in rapt concentration, watching the way the sun reflected off his chocolate irises. Slowly, she removed first one hand and then the other and without realising exactly how it happened, he was floating on his own. She smiled and then lay back and floated next to him. Somehow, he found her hand in the water and closed his rough fingers around it. She kicked lightly and began to propel herself backward across the lake, tugging him with her.

“See, you’re a natural after all,” she said, turning to look at him as she heard his feet begin to paddle beside hers.

“If you think I’m good at this,” he quipped, “you should see what else I can do.”

Suddenly finding it hard to breathe properly, Sigyn lost her balance and began to sink. “Damn you!” she sputtered, splashing him with her free hand.

“You actually know how to swear?” Theoric gasped in mock surprise.

“I avoid coarse language to protect sensitive hearts,” she said defensively, pushing off against the shore. “And you clearly have no heart to worry about.” She swam for the waterfall with all she was worth.

Theoric laughed, latching onto a rocky outcropping. He pulled himself out of the lake and ran towards the falls. “Heartless, am I? I’ll show you heartless!”

Sigyn had found her own stone ledge and climbed out of the water herself by the time he arrived. The ledge ran the length of the cliff, disappearing inside of a cave behind the curtain of rushing water. She could feel the spray of the falls from where she sat, but she was safely out of reach of the full force of the torrent. Or at least she was until Theoric sneaked up behind her and pushed her right into it.

“I hate you so much right now!” she shrieked as the ice-cold water pounded her relentlessly.

“Oddly enough, I just don’t believe you,” shouted Theoric as he scrambled back up the cliff.

Sigyn was about to tell him where to go and how to get there, when she burst into uncontrollable laughter instead. He was right, of course. She didn’t hate him for the simple reason that there was no longer room inside of her for that kind of emotion. At the moment, she was full of joy...and the possibility of something even greater. She didn’t know if she exactly loved him yet, but she was beginning to think that she could, and that was more hope than her fragile heart had held for many, many long years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Sigyn's "dates"- The four major courtship scenes I included in chapters 7-11 (the orchard walk, the swimming excursion, the fireside chat, and the romantic dinner) are inspired by a single [panel](https://78.media.tumblr.com/1a8b0b62c875dd954123050f07be3714/tumblr_inline_mo0cx4AKTY1qz4rgp.png) from the original comic story-line. The centerpiece of this panel shows Sigyn and "Theoric" kissing passionately. You will have to wait until chapter 12 for this one. ;)
> 
> Loki's potion making - this is only referenced specifically in the comics, although Loki does mention veiling an escape from Nornheim with smoke in _Thor_. It can be implied that he used some sort of potion to produce that effect.
> 
> Loki's promise- Thanks to IW, I have decided to delay the twins' birth until Loki and Sigyn's next incarnations (See my sequel fic _On a Clear Day You Can See the Bifrost_ ). I didn't want to have to deal with resurrecting them, too. Also, the thought of them being slaughtered by the Children of Thanos at the tender age of two or living as orphans was too much for me to handle. Sigyn will be waiting a long time for him to keep that promise...
> 
> "Sigyn and Theoric became inseparable" - the general ideas behind this paragraph as well as some of the phrasing were lifted straight from the comics. Like the MCU writers, I tried to retain enough of the original storyline in this fic that it is recognizable while making the characters, especially Loki, more three-dimensional and sympathetic.
> 
> Loki's aversion to water - another reference to the comics. In the very first issue in which Loki appears, it is revealed that water renders his magic completely inert. He cannot swim either, but sinks like a stone. Of course, no mention of this weakness is ever made again. I'm modifying this a bit for my story. Water merely dampens his magic, and he doesn't know how to swim because he spends most of his time indoors.
> 
> Loki's resistance to heat - Since MCU Loki is literally cold blooded, I figured a little heat wouldn't bother him.
> 
> Franang's Falls - there will be a longer note about this in the next chapter, but Loki's confusion stems from the fact that he is the only one who knows this waterfall exists due to its magical properties.


	9. Light My Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki gives Sigyn an apologetic gift, and Sigyn recites a love poem.

By the time Loki had gathered all of their scattered clothes from the riverbank and climbed back down, Sigyn was sitting on the ledge again, her legs swinging back and forth to rhythm of the rushing water. Since she had first followed the river here, he had found it peculiar that she should discover this particular spot of all places. Franang's Falls had been one of his hideaways of old. There was some kind of magical field erected by the Norn in ancient times that shielded one from scrying eyes while claiming sanctuary there. He recalled that even his all-seeing father had not been able to locate him when in its vicinity. That had proved helpful on more than one occasion when he had provoked the great Odin’s wrath with his mischief. Apparently the power of Sigyn’s seidr exceeded even the Allfather’s. Was there no end to this woman’s talents?

His amazement at her inadvertent discovery had even caused him to make the reckless decision to jump into the lake. Water was not his favourite element. Where ice and fire gave him strength, water seemed to sap his magic. He had learned that from a young age and tended to avoid it whenever he could. He could only speculate at what madness had led him to follow her to a place where he had a clear strategic disadvantage. Thank the gods that it had been this specific body of water. At least his enemies couldn’t see that he had made himself vulnerable.

His attention returned again to Sigyn, who he noticed was now shivering visibly. He felt a brief prick of conscience for the dirty trick he had played, but it quickly dissipated as she turned to look at him, smiling.

“You b-brought m-my c-c-clothes,” she said through chattering teeth. “How th-thoughful.”

“‘Tis nothing,” he said gallantly as he offered her his cloak. She took it gratefully and began to dry herself with it like a towel.

He was pulling on his leather jerkin when he heard her say, “You know I’m going to m-make you p-pay for that.”

He shot her a toothy grin. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

“Well, we w-wouldn’t want that,” she said, walking over to him and letting the cloak drop on the grass. She stood there for a moment, water still dripping off her chemise despite her best efforts to dry it. His eyes strayed upward from her feet toward the neckline of her flimsy damp garment. His tongue peeked out momentarily from between his lips. Gods, she really was not making this easy for him.

“Have I ever told you how lovely you look in pink?” he said casually as she began to pull on her skirt, which was only a shade darker than her undergarments.

Sigyn hesitated for a moment before reaching behind herself for the clasp. “No, I don’t believe you have.”

“You do, by the way,” he said, handing her the blouse and trying to avoid ogling her. “Look lovely, I mean. It reminds me of the day we met.”

A look of confusion danced across her features. “Oh?”

“You wore pink then, I believe,” he said, although he was suddenly uncertain of the accuracy of this statement.

“I did?” she asked in bewilderment. “‘Tis true that I wear that colour frequently, but I do not specifically recall…”

He quickly realised his error. Pink was the colour Sigyn had been wearing when _Loki_ had first met her on the balcony of his brother’s suite, not Theoric. He hadn’t even been present when the two of them had first become acquainted. “Perhaps I am mistaken then,” he said lightly, hoping she would forget he had said anything. Of course he could always _make_ her forget after he dried off and his telepathy was back to full power…

 _You shouldn’t do that without permission._ Her words echoed in his mind as if she were saying them again now. No, he couldn’t violate her that way. She had scolded him for that very thing the first time he saw her. Although he had never said it aloud, he had promised himself that he wouldn’t try any of his mental tricks on her after he had used her as an unwilling participant in his mind-reading experiments. Besides, wasn’t that a bit like cheating anyway? For some reason, he wanted to win this bet fair and square. Well, apart from the whole shapeshifting thing...

“Penny for your thoughts,” she said as she laced up the stays on her light corset.

He smirked at the irony of her flippant comment. “I really don’t think you’d care to know.”

******************************

After a light supper of bread and cheese, Loki invited Sigyn back to the Crimson Hawks’ area of the palace servants’ quarters. The common room had a large stone fireplace with a tattered yet ornamental rug situated nearby. Sigyn was surprised to see such a cozy room deserted so early in the evening. Loki explained away the absence of the other members of Odin’s personal guard by saying that they had all been invited to watch a sparring match hosted by the Warriors Three and that he had declined to go in deference to her aversion to violence. For this act of chivalry, he was rewarded with a warm smile and a gentle embrace, both of which he received with great relish.

“Theoric, you have grown so thoughtful of late,” she whispered as she settled on an intricately carved yet uncomfortable chair.

“One does one’s best,” he said almost humbly as he walked over to a nearby side table and retrieved a worn leather tome.

“I thought you didn’t want us to read when we were together,” she said, placing a firm hand on her hip.

“This is a gift,” he said with a shy smile. “To replace the book I lost.” He handed the volume to her.

She turned the book over in her hands several times before opening it. She gave a gasp when she saw the title page. “This is a _First Folio_. Where in the Nine Realms did you get this?”

“Midgard, of course,” he said as he leaned on the back of her chair. “Shakespeare was in fact a denizen of Earth, or so they say. I secretly suspect he might have been amnesiac Asgardian who fell off the Bifrost.”

“Or at least a Vanir,” she countered mock-seriously. She flipped slowly through the pages, careful not to tear or crease them. “Do you know what I find to be the saddest speech in any of his plays?”

“Let me guess,” he said placing a finger to his lips. “Something from _Romeo and Juliet_? ‘For never was a story of more woe’ or some such?”

She shook her head. “‘Tis from one of the comedies.” She continued to page through the volume until she found what she sought. “‘She never told her love / But let concealment like a worm i’th’ bud / Feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought / And with a green and yellow melancholy, / She sat like Patience on a monument / Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?’”

“‘We men may say more, swear more,’” Loki continued. “‘But indeed / our shows are more than will; for we still prove / much in our vows, but little in our love.’” They were both silent for a moment. “From _Twelfth Night_ ,” he finally said.

“Aye,” she said, and he could hear her swallow. “Viola’s speech to Count Orsino about her ‘sister’ while she was yet disguised as a boy. She could never tell him of her love directly because it was forbidden. Not to mention the fact that he was in love with someone else at the time. I empathize with her more than with any of Shakespeare’s other heroines. I know how she must have felt…”

Loki’s mind raced trying to figure out what she meant. Was he supposed to know what she was talking about? It would be so helpful to have access to her psyche right now. He subconsciously sent a force of thought at her, cringing at the reflexive act of intrusion. He was relieved when his probe was immediately repelled as though by an invisible wall. A corner of his mouth quirked involuntarily. Sigyn had no reason to suspect anyone would be trying to get into her head right now, which could only mean that the barrier was always in place. Apparently, she was an expert at guarding her emotions in more ways than one.

Sigyn jolted out of her chair, her eyes darting around the room suspiciously. “That’s odd,” she said in a low voice as she turned toward him. “I could have sworn someone was trying to contact me telepathically. Mayhaps it was Lady Eir. I should contact her and see if she needs me.”

Loki smirked at how cute Sigyn looked as she scrunched her eyes closed in concentration. He found it amusing that although most spells were elementary to her, telepathy still required her full attention. He was her opposite in many respects, and this was yet another. Mind manipulation had become as natural as breathing to him over the centuries; so much so that he now did it unintentionally. He would have to work harder to control such impulses. Her current vulnerability while reaching out mentally to her superior made him fairly itch to try reading her thoughts again, but he staunchly resisted the temptation, ashamed that the notion should even occur to him in the first place.

Sigyn’s lips twitched downward, and the skin of her forehead puckered slightly. “‘Twas not she. I wonder who it was.”

Loki cleared his throat. “You spoke of Viola?” he prompted, eager to distract her from his gaffe. “I scarce can guess your meaning.”

Her complexion paled and she averted her gaze. “Once upon a time,” she began, “an insignificant apprentice healer dared fancy a prince.”

His heart seized and his blood begin to warm uncomfortably. No! He would not let his absent brother wrest this moment from him. “If he found you insignificant,” he said, unable to keep the dark edge from his tone, “then he was unworthy to claim you as his own.”

Sigyn’s deep blue eyes met his, and they were full of a strange wonder. “I thank you for your esteem, Theoric. I may not have believed so at the time, but I begin to feel the truth of your words. All of us matter equally. Even the humans have an important part to play in the drama of this vast universe.”

 _I don’t know that I’d go that far_ , he thought but wisely kept it to himself.

“‘Twas not meant to be,” she stated resolutely as she set the _First Folio_ down in her previous chair.

“Apparently not,” he eagerly agreed. “‘Tis just as well after he abdicated the throne and defected to Midgard.”

Sigyn blinked at him for a moment before understanding flashed across her face. “Oh, you thought I spoke of Prince Thor.”

Loki’s pulse accelerated dangerously. “Did you not?”

She shook her head and looked down at her hands. “Nay, it was not him I meant.”

So many conflicting feelings were coursing through his veins now that he thought he would be torn asunder. For some reason, he was also having some difficulty breathing. He leaned on the back of the chair for support, trying to appear nonchalant. “Prince Loki?” he managed to blurt.

She nodded slowly, apparently unaware that his body had decided to betray him at this crucial moment. “‘Tis embarrassing to admit, or at least it would be were it not for Queen Frigga’s encouragement on that score.”

He was shaking from head to toe. He desperately tried to reign in his emotions, but the gate had been thrown open and they ran rampant and unbridled. “What? But I thought-”

“Aye, she thought we would make a smart match. Is that not strange?” She chose that moment to look back at him. “My love, why are you trembling? What ails you?” She reached out to touch his hand. “You are freezing. Would you care to tend the fire?”

Loki silently cursed himself for forgetting the enchantment that warmed his frigid Jotun blood. He turned to the hearth, which he noticed was smouldering slightly. Although the day had been a hot one, the temperature had quickly dropped with the sun and one of the servants had made a half-hearted attempt to keep the fire burning. When he did not make a move, Sigyn tenderly led him in that direction and picked up the poker herself, prodding the charred remains of the wood back to life. She added more fuel, and the fire soon stirred and roared as might a lion who had been disciplined by its trainer. Loki watched her the entire time, taking in the sheer radiance that emanated from her as she went about her simple task of love. Why did she have to be so sweet and kind? Didn’t she realise that this was all just a game to him? That he had no intention of actually spending his life with her? And most importantly, why had she actually loved _him_? The real him, not this facade of Theoric. Even more baffling was that his soul should be wrung inside out by any of this. This state of being that he had unexpectedly found himself in was agony unparalleled.

“Come sit with me, love,” she beckoned. She gently pulled him down to the rug beside the hearth which was surprisingly comfortable. “Do not doubt my loyalty to you in the slightest. My passion for the fallen prince cooled long ago. My only devotion is to you from henceforth. I do not know that it was even genuine love at all or would it not still burn hot in my breast?”

His blood ran cold now for a different reason. She hadn’t loved him then. He supposed it was just as well. Love would only make this ruse more complicated. He didn’t love her after all...

Noting his pensive mood, she placed her delicate hands on either side of his face and began to recite:  
“Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove.  
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark  
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
Within his bending sickle's compass come;  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me prov'd,  
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.”

Her gaze was so intense, he feared his frozen heart might melt in its sultry heat. “‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day’ in return then?” he quipped.

The corners of her mouth turned down in obvious disapproval. “You mock me?” she asked with a wounded expression as though she had just been dealt an invisible blow.

“Nay, milady,” he said and took both of her hands in his. Lifting one to his lips, he honoured it with a kiss. “The warmth of your regard was simply becoming too much for a humble warrior to resist.”

Her lips parted a fraction at the sensation. “I see,” she said, and there was a slight hitch in her breath as he continued pressing his mouth to her skin.

Loki smiled at the effect his affectionate ministrations were having on her. So, she hadn’t loved him then. What of it? He would make sure that she was thoroughly enamoured of him this time. He would be the victor in this dangerous lovers’ game, and she would be sorry that she ever insulted him with her disregard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Franang's Falls - In the original mythology, Franang's Falls is the place where Loki hides from Odin after killing Baldur and provoking his wrath. He also disguises himself as a salmon to aid in his escape. The salmon in the previous chapter was a nod to this. Franang's Falls also appears in the comics. In both cases, it is located on Midgard. For the purposes of this story, I placed it near Nornheim on Asgard. 
> 
> Loki and water - As I explained in the previous chapter, the first time Loki appears in _Journey Into Mystery_ , he is defeated when Thor knocks him into the ocean, draining his powers completely and nearly causing him to drown. Poor MCU Loki is nerfed enough, so I decided that water merely dampens his magic. This weakness come into play again in chapter 12. 
> 
> Sigyn's dress - Spoiler alert: Sigyn was NOT wearing pink when she met Theoric. ;)
> 
> Loki's mental abilities - As I have mentioned before, Loki's magic is much more powerful in the comics. There is canonical evidence that both Loki and Odin can delete events from the minds of mortals if they so choose. I'm not sure how this works on other gods, however, Odin seems to have done something to Thor's memories when he banished him to Midgard in the form of Dr. Donald Blake. Loki's influence/persuasion ability also can be wielded against fellow Asgardians, including Odin, so I figured why not his memory meddling. There is no direct proof of this ability in the MCU.
> 
> Loki's _First Folio_ \- The _First Folio_ , published in 1623, is the earliest complete collection of Shakespeare's plays. There are currently 235 known surviving copies, although new ones seem to turn up every couple years. Loki's fictional edition makes 236. ;) 
> 
> "Would you care to tend the fire?" - A slightly modernised version of Sigyn's line in this [panel.](https://78.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lyjh0tzrkY1r4k7ef.png)
> 
> "Agony unparalleled" - A phrase lifted directly from the above panel. Although in that case, Loki's agony was from being chained to Sigyn, not his guilty conscience.
> 
> Shakespeare's sonnet 116 - This is one of the most well-known of Shakespeare's sonnets. My sister and sometimes AO3 co-author [Cassandra_Elise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassandra_Elise/pseuds/Cassandra_Elise) suggested that Sigyn recite this poem to Loki. I loved the idea because this sonnet truly reflects the kind of steadfast love that the goddess of fidelity has for her husband. 
> 
> "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day" - The first line of Shakespeare's sonnet 18. Incidentally, you can listen to Tom Hiddleston read this poem if you so desire.


	10. You're So Vain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn remembers Loki's betrayal, and "Theoric" gives her a meaningful bouquet.

Theoric was the most charming, most thoughtful man that Sigyn had ever had the pleasure of meeting. He was handsome and brave, honest to a fault, and respected her more than anyone ever had in her life. She still felt the tenderness of his lips on the back of her hand hours after they had said goodnight. So why was she lying awake at a quarter to three thinking about _him_ instead?

Loki Laufeyson of Jotunheim, Odin’s youngest son and onetime ruler of Asgard had been dead for nearly a year, and out of her life for hundreds of years before that, and yet his ghost haunted her as persistently as if she had laid eyes on him that very day. Her crush on him had been girlish and foolish, and, above all, obviously unrequited. And yet the desire that she had once had for him had come creeping back as she had admitted the same to her fiance. The flames had cooled for certain, but the spark had never really died. He had always made her feel that life was full of endless possibilities, that one could accomplish anything one had the imagination to dream. She had learned from him that she was more than just a orphaned nobody, fated to rely on the charity of others. He had treated her as an equal, perhaps even as a superior in some regards. Hadn’t she been the one to help him refine that cloaking spell that he always failed at so miserably? Hadn’t she been the first person outside of his family to take him to task for the reckless ways in which he used his abilities? They had been two opposite sides of the same coin that fit together seamlessly; two metals that were strong enough by themselves but together melded into an indestructible alloy. Or at least that was what she had believed until he had betrayed her and spoiled everything. Thinking back on that fateful day had always been painful for her, but now as she tossed and turned beneath her sheets, the sharpness of that sting rankled as it never had before.

She could clearly remember her frame of mind as she had awoken that morning. After all, Sigyn had been dreaming of this day for months, and at last, it had arrived. Loki had finally invited her to the palace to view his private library. He had always talked about his vast collection of books, bragging that it rivalled even Mímir’s. Of course, Sigyn surmised that he was exaggerating slightly if not completely, but she was used to his flippant boasts by this point. In her naivete, she even found his egotism slightly charming. He wasn’t really that conceited, she had convinced herself; his self-adulation was clearly a cover for the fact that he secretly had very low opinion of himself and he longed for approval. King Odin did always seem to favour his eldest son, and Sigyn sometimes caught a look of utter despair on Loki’s face when his father spoke of Thor and his accomplishments. At those times, she wished she had the courage to rail at the Allfather and force him to acknowledge how brilliant his younger son truly was. But if Queen Frigga, who felt the same way, did not dare, how could she, a lowly healer who had befriended the princes through mere happenstance?

Sigyn prepared with a meticulous care she rarely lavished on her toilette. She donned a long pale green silk gown with an empire waist that accentuated her ample bosom. Her long black hair was twisted up on the back of her head and held in place with a gold hairpin decorated with a delicate leaf pattern. She outlined her eyes with kohl and pinched her cheeks until they looked feverish. She even doused herself with rosewater that she borrowed from one of the other girls who shared her dwelling. She looked at herself critically in the mirror. Certes, there were many other prettier girls of Loki’s acquaintance, but how many of them did he invite to see his books, those ancient tomes of knowledge that reflected his intellect more brilliantly than this pane of glass showed her appearance? Satisfied, she left her quarters and pointed her steps towards the castle, travelling as quickly as she could without tripping on her skirts.

When she arrived at the gate, two young members of the Crimson Hawks were guarding the entrance. She curtseyed briefly to them and told them that she was expected. One of the guards had no problem with this explanation, but the other narrowed his brown eyes at her inquisitively from behind his helmet.

“Who exactly is expecting you?” he asked in a gruff bass voice.

Sigyn willed her voice to remain calm yet firm. “Prince Loki.”

The first guard chuckled. “He’s a popular chap today.”

“I beg your pardon?” queried Sigyn, a rushing starting in her ears. Was she not the only one he had invited?

The second guard shook his head at his companion. “You are clearly upsetting the lady.”

“Sorry, Theoric,” muttered the first. “I did not realise you were so keen on manners.”

Theoric sighed. “I suppose we shall have to let you pass. Although it is probable that an enemy would send a maiden as fair as you to launch a surprise attack on the Allfather. After all, who would suspect an evil soul to dwell within such a comely creature?”

Sigyn knew she should be flattered, but she was merely annoyed that this young warrior was not only preventing her rendezvous with Loki, but also accusing her of being a spy. “I thank you for your compliments,” she said as sweetly as she could, “but I really must see his highness.”

A familiar face appeared behind the guards’ shoulders, towering over them. “Looking for me?” said a booming voice.

“Prince Thor,” Sigyn dropped a low curtsey at the heir apparent. “Please bid these guards grant me passage.”

Thor glared at the Crimson Hawks, a spark of indignation in his deep blue eyes. “Why do you insult the Lady Sigyn in this way?” he growled. “She has ever been a friend to the royal family. Permit her to enter at once.”

“Yes, your highness,” the guards replied at once and stood aside.

Thor grinned and beckoned to Sigyn. “Well, are you coming?”

Sigyn couldn’t help but smile back as she followed him into the Great Hall. “I cannot thank you enough for your timely intervention, Prince Thor,” she said in a rush, “but surely I do not deserve the title of ‘lady.’ I am but a humble healer.”

“Nonsense!” he protested, offering her his arm, which she shyly accepted. “You are a true friend and confidante to one of my closest companions. Also, my mother respects you greatly.”

“The Queen?” Sigyn gasped, barely daring to breathe. “How have I managed to attract her notice?” She sincerely hoped that her intrusion into Valhalla the day before had not been the cause.

“By reputation, mostly,” He continued as they headed up the grand staircase to the second level. “Lady Eir speaks highly of your talents. She claims that she’s never had as gifted a pupil as you. Your skill in not only healing but also protection and binding spells is unsurpassed according to her. And of course, Mother has also observed your interactions with my errant brother.” He chuckled, mirth radiating from his scruffy visage. “You are the only one with the talent to dispel anything he can throw at you. You have proved invaluable to his training, reaching him in ways that she never could. She is too soft on him sometimes, I fear.” He said, stopping to gaze out of a window on the landing. “Of course, Father is always too harsh, so it all tends to balance I suppose.”

Sigyn had never heard him speak so candidly about his family before. She was honoured, and at the same time, vaguely uncomfortable as though she had stumbled across an intimate scene between two lovers. She quickly shifted the topic of conversation. “What news from the Nine Realms?” she asked as they continued to make their way upwards. “We hear precious little when there are no returning soldiers to mend.”

Thor shrugged. “Our borders are well-protected. Our neighbors on every side know better than to provoke the Allfather’s wrath by attempting an invasion. All in all, quite boring. I’ve been reduced to helping settle civil disputes in Vanaheim to keep occupied. Trust the other ‘gods’ of the realms to keep life entertaining.” He smiled, but she could sense a restlessness in him. He wanted to prove himself almost as much as his younger brother did, and this petty skirmishes were doing nothing to help him toward that end. What a terrible responsibility to be the sons of the great Odin!

They had reached the floor where the princes’ apartments were located. Thor dropped her arm and bowed low to her. “Here I take my leave of you, Lady Sigyn. I trust your business here lies at the end of the opposite wing.” He winked conspiratorially at her. “I must say, you are much better company than most of my brother’s companions. His taste is clearly better than I had presumed it to be.” With that, he dashed in the direction of his own chambers.

Sigyn would have blushed at his compliment if an alarm bell had not started in her head at the implication of his first remark. She had heard rumours of Loki’s many conquests, but she had always dismissed them as unfounded. Loki had never been other than an utter gentleman with her, save for that one slip of the tongue yesterday, and that was easily explained as eagerness for her to see the library. A gentleman as far as her virtue was concerned anyway. He naturally loved to tease her, was rude and condescending on occasion, and never tired of playing tricks on her, but she was always able to give such behaviour back to him with equal measure. She considered it all a game, a fun harmless game that she never wished to stop playing. His easy conversation and ready wit intoxicated her like mulled wine and warmed her from the inside every time they met. She supposed they had even been flirting...a bit...mayhaps, but it never went beyond that. She assumed that it must’ve been the same with the so-called “paramours” he’d had in the past.

Although, now that she stopped to think about it, did she really want to be just like all the other ladies he had charmed? She wasn’t; she was certain. She and Loki shared something special; she just knew it. Why else would they have such long, detailed discussions about art, music, and literature? Why else would he confide in her about his longings to show his father that he was just as capable as his elder brother? She couldn’t bear to think that he had shared so much of his soul with another woman. But who was she to think she was so favoured by such a lofty personage? She was no one; a poor working girl of unknown parentage and only a slight talent in magic to recommend her.

But no! Queen Frigga saw her worth, at least according to Prince Thor. And he had no cause to lie about such matters. Even the god of thunder himself found her to be good company. So perhaps she was worried over nothing. She must be. Prince Loki had always insisted that he never let anyone see his precious library. She would be the first. How foolish she was to doubt any of them, including herself.

By this time, she had made her way to the other end of the floor. A large set of imposing doors in a dark wood she had never seen before separated the anteroom from the sprawling apartment beyond. Hesitantly, she knocked, and then stepped back to await a reply.

After several minutes with no response, she timidly approached the door again. Frowning, she turned her head and strained to hear any movement from within. The room was completely silent. Too silent, as though it had been muffled with a ward. Knowing it was probably a mistake, Sigyn reached out with her power until she could feel a weak resistance. Whoever had cast this enchantment had been very sloppy about it. She pushed a little further into the ether and dispelled the barrier as easily as brushing away a cobweb. Such shoddy spellwork was rather embarrassing to witness, she thought. She listened again. This time, she heard muffled voices. Shaking away a bit of residual energy from her fingers, she dared to open the door.

Cold shock ran through her at the sight that awaited her. A woman with bright ginger hair was backing Loki into a bookcase, a seductive smile on her dark red lips. Loki seemed a bit startled, but not reluctant as she leaned toward him. Sigyn wanted desperately to look away as their lips met, but she was transfixed with horror. The temptress pulled herself in closer as her mouth nearly completely eclipsed his. She lifted her leg against his, placing her knee squarely on the shelf behind him, which tipped, sending books tumbling.

The sound of the precious items crashing shook her from her reverie. She reflexively slung a protection spell at the shelf, stabilizing it with a burst of rose-coloured light. The titian-haired beauty turned to glare at her as she crossed the room quickly and began to frantically collect the books from the floor.

“This room is taken,” she hissed with a feral snarl. “Go and tidy up somewhere else until your master has need of you.”

Sigyn’s hands trembled as she shoved the books back from whence they had come. But it wasn’t with fear or cold that she shook. “How dare you speak to me that way!” she shouted at the interloper as she stood to face her. “I am no servant. I am just as much a guest in this house as you are.”

The woman laughed, a musical sound that irritated Sigyn all the more. “Then why are you chasing after the prince, cleaning up his messes?”

For the first time since she entered the room, she looked at Loki. He was flushed from his recent salacious activities, but his face was gradually regaining its usual waxy pallor. She locked eyes with him, daring him to say something, anything in her defense. But he was uncharacteristically silent.

“I see you have no pretty things to say to me today, Silvertongue,” Sigyn said, and the icy chill in her voice sounded odd even to her.

His eyes searched hers for a moment, but she wasn’t sure what exactly he was hoping to find there. Whatever it was, she was determined not to grant him. “Sigyn,” he began.

“So the magpie finally caws!” she interrupted vehemently, “There is nothing you can say to me at this late hour that that I care to hear.” She struggled to speak, her throat tightening with unshed tears. “In fact, I would much prefer it if you never spoke to me again.”

“Show some respect to your future king, peasant,” Loki’s companion hissed and struck her hard across the face.

Sigyn stumbled backward, clutching her cheek. She was bewildered to note that her anger and sadness seemed to have been dispersed by the slap. These were replaced by a cold numbness that seemed to spread from her heart outward. She barely heard Loki addressing her attacker.

“Lorelei, that’s enough!” he said in a quiet voice that belied the rage that simmered beneath.

So _that_ was Lorelei. Sigyn had heard others speak of this beguiling siren but she had never seen her before. Noting the familiar look of anger on the prince’s face, she couldn’t help laughing, despite her anesthetized emotions. Perhaps she was going mad, but she cared not. “Spare me your counterfeit concern, your majesty,” she said with a mock genuflection. “Honestly! Future king? Is that the fabrication you are peddling to the gullible maidens this week? What of Thor?”

“If I may interject-” he began in that silkily smooth voice that she usually found so irresistible.

“Never you mind,” she spat. “I will not suffer to entertain your pathetic protestations. Farewell, Prince Loki. I sincerely hope that our paths are never fated to cross again.”

“Jealousy is not a flattering garment on you, Sigyn,” Lorelei purred, “Do not blame me for the failure of your lofty ambitions. Recall your station.”

Sigyn’s wrath returned with a vengeance. “You think I actually desired a union with him? Ha!” She glared fixedly into his infuriatingly beautiful blue-green eyes. “I would never marry one so loathsome, not for all the treasures of the Nine Realms.” Before Loki could respond, she bolted from the room, knocking over a potted plant in the process.

As soon as Sigyn’s foot hit the first step on the staircase, she knew she had overreacted, and she hated herself for it. There had never been any understanding between herself and Loki. How could there have been? He was second in line to the throne of Asgard, and she was...nobody. There had been flirtations-at least on her side-but he had never led her to believe that there was anything more between them. Any thoughts of a closer relationship had merely been flights of fancy on her part, and she had always known that. But oh! What lovely dreams they had been, even though she realised that they were just that, dreams.

But she had still felt that they shared a connection over the books at the very least. Hadn’t he told her that no one else in the palace read as extensively as he had? His library was his refuge, his _sanctum sanctorum_ as it were. No one was allowed within who did not share his passion for the written word. Then what had that whore been doing in there? Sigyn had heard rumours of Lorelei’s lovely soprano voice and even that she used it to ensnare the senses of unwary godlings, but her literary leanings were not a subject of gossip. If she had not gone to the library to see the books at Loki’s invitation, was it possible she had charmed her way in? Sigyn recalled the ward she had dispelled when she entered the room. She knew the energy of the one who had created it almost as intimately as she knew her own power. Loki had cast that barrier spell, not Lorelei. That meant he was complicit in the amourous activity and not bewitched. That was all she really needed to know. His reasons for converting his library into a den of iniquity were inconsequential. The only thing that mattered was that she was finished with Loki forever. She was being melodramatic again, but she didn’t care. Sigyn would never forgive him this slight as long as she lived.

The icy shield of numbness that had began to form around her heart that day had only grown thicker and colder over the past six hundred years...until recently. Theoric, who had apparently been interested in her since their first meeting that fateful day, had reappeared on the scene just in time. His warmth, his unexpectedly sharp wit, and his passion for life was slowly beginning to chip away at the glacier of grief and betrayal. She could feel his ardour lighting her up from within, melting the chill from her soul just as surely as the fire had eased the ache in her bones after her adventure in the river. Although she never would have supposed it even a few days ago, she eagerly awaited their next outing together. She could not seem to stop smiling from the moment she awoke until she jumped back into her bed and nestled under the covers, wishing that he was there beside her to help pass the lonely hours until dawn.

Yet despite all this, she was restless tonight because of centuries-old attachment to a man she hadn’t seen in years. A man who had perpetrated cruel deeds both here and on Migard even if he had redeemed himself at the last. A man whom she had pledged to hate as long as she lived. Sigyn sighed as the minutes crawled onward toward dawn. If she could not even trust her own heart, could she ever truly give it to another, especially one as noble and deserving as Theoric?

*****************************

Sigyn was sitting outside the library on a marble bench when Mímir arrived to open it. “Rough night?” he asked cheerfully as he fit the large brass key in the lock.

Sigyn winced, not realising her appearance was that haggard, “You have no idea,” she said, following him into the building. She frowned to see that he was attired in his travelling garb yet again. “Are you leaving so soon?”

Mímir stopped at each of the large mullioned windows, opening the drapes and letting the brilliant sunlight into the stuffy main room. “I’m to return to Midgard immediately,” he said with a nod. “The Allfather has sent me to investigate the theft of a rare book.”

For some reason, Theoric’s First Folio came to mind, but she quickly brushed the thought away. Theoric would never do anything so rash. Although, she had to admit it was odd that he had it to begin with. When had the Crimson Hawks ever been to Midgard?

“Was there something you wished to speak with me about?” the librarian asked as he began to gather items from his desk.

“Unfortunately, yes,” she began hesitantly. “‘Tis regarding that book you lent me the last time I was here.”

He scratched his beard for a moment. “ _Cyrano de Bergerac_?”

“Aye, that’s the one,” she admitted and then looked down at the floor. “I’ve mislaid it, seemingly.”

“I see,” he said in his deep baritone voice.

“Being but a poor healer, I don’t have much gold,” she continued, “but I am willing to pay for its loss, no matter how long it takes.” She lifted her eyes to his, and was surprised to see that they appeared more worried than angry.

“You’ve never lost a book before, Sigyn,” he said gravely as he took a seat. “What happened?”

“Well…” She swallowed hard. “I am actually not the one who lost it.”

“Oh?” His bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Then who did?”

“Theoric.” Sigyn hated saying it out loud. She sounded like a mewling child pointing her finger at an errant sibling.

“Hmm.” He drummed his fingers on the desk in contemplation. “I was rather afraid of that.”

Sigyn shook her head several times, hoping it would clear the cobwebs from her sleep-deprived mind. “You were? Why, pray tell?”

“I warned you that there was something amiss with your fiance,” he said darkly. “I would ask you to bring him here forthwith for questioning if I were not on my way out of Asgard yet again.”

She blinked at him. “Is losing a book truly symptomatic of a darker plot? Truly, Lord Mímir, I have never regarded Theoric as the wisest of men. The fact that he misplaced a book seems more like carelessness than conspiracy.”

“I pray you are right, Sigyn,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “But just in case, be ever on your guard when you are with him.”

“I am always vigilant against mind manipulation,” she assured him. “My mental barrier is nigh impenetrable.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have many preparations to attend before my departure.”

“Of course, milord.” She curtseyed low and then made for the exit.

“Pray do not give another thought to that missing book,” he called after her. “I have a feeling it will turn up again soon.”

She turned back to him. “I thank you, Lord Mímir, and I wish you a safe voyage.”

As she exited the library, a thought that had been niggling since yesterday poked through her consciousness. Someone had tried to contact her telepathically last night. The message had thankfully been deflected by her barrier, and it had not come from Lady Eir. So who had sent it? Theoric? That seemed unlikely as transmitting thoughts was a skill that had to be honed, and she didn’t know who could have possibly taught him. Now that she stopped to consider it, the power signature of the sender had been vaguely familiar to her. In fact, it had a similar quality to that of… No, that was impossible. This was clearly the muddled logic of a tired mind. She massaged her temples as she walked, trying to stave off the headache that was beginning to build. She was so preoccupied with her wayward musings that she almost bumped into…

“Theoric!” she gasped as she backed away slightly.

Theoric grinned and produced a bouquet of gorgeous purple calla lilies from behind his back. “I saw these on my morning walk and thought of you,” he said barely above a whisper. He handed them to her, tenderly transferring them from his large rough hands into her small slender ones.

Sigyn flinched at his touch. “Are you feeling alright, my love?” she asked in concern. “Your hands are still freezing.”

Theoric gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I had to dig in the river to get the roots. The water is yet chilly this early in the season as well you know.” Sure enough, the stems and roots were dripping slightly, leaving a pool of water near Sigyn’s sandaled feet.

Sigyn felt that there was something odd about this explanation, but she couldn’t bring herself to mention it, not when he was gazing at her with such devoted admiration. “Where are we going today?” she asked instead.

“Anywhere you wish, my dear,” he said with a flourish of his cloak and a sweeping bow. “Well, anywhere in Asgard that is. I doubt Heimdall would allow us to traverse the Bifrost on a lark.”

Sigyn nibbled her bottom lip, debating the myriad possibilities. Her heart skipped a bit as she realised that the god of mischief was not the only one who could teach her to dream. Perhaps she was not as much of a lost cause as she had feared. Maybe she really was overthinking what should be quite simple. Of course, one never never did forget one’s first love, but its loss didn’t mean that the door to happiness was forever shut. She merely needed the courage to invite someone else into her heart. She was starting to believe that Theoric might just be the one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn's gown - As you can see, Sigyn was wearing green the day she met Theoric, not pink. ;)
> 
> Loki's apartment - I invented this section of the castle to serve my own purposes. However, it stands to reason that the two princes would each have their own suite of rooms that they could use for their particular hobbies. I am not one of those people who think that Loki had a horrible childhood and was treated as lesser than his elder brother except with regard to the fact that he was the "second-born" and would not be inheriting the throne. He _was_ a prince, for Thor's sake!
> 
> Loki and Lorelei - These two are lovers in the comics, for reasons that will be explained in chapter 13. I leave it entirely up to your imagination whether this kiss was as far as their relationship went in the MCU or not. I don't think it really makes any difference to the overall plot.
> 
> "the magpie finally caws" - This is a reference to the fact that "evil Loki" became a magpie when he was reincarnated in the comics while his "better nature" was Kid Loki.
> 
> Sanctum sanctorum - a Latin phrase which literally translated means "holy of holies," that is, his "sanctuary" or "sacred place." This is not in fact a reference to Doctor Strange's residence at 177A Bleecker Streetin, Greenwich Village, NYC. 
> 
> Loki's First Folio - As I mentioned before, this is an additional copy besides the ones currently existent in our world, which means he didn't actually steal it. More on that in the epilogue.
> 
> Loki's power signature - As I mentioned in chapter 7 and also earlier in this chapter, talented mages are able to not only detect other magic user's power, but also identify to whom it belongs. It has been six-hundred years since Sigyn was close enough to feel Loki's magic, so we can't blame her too much for not recognizing it right away. 
> 
> Purple calla lilies - in the language of flowers, this particular bouquet denotes royalty and passion. Loki is, in essence, telling Sigyn she is his queen, and he loves her. <3


	11. You Won't See Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has a bit too much to drink, and Sigyn gets inside his head.

Loki had never known the days to fly by so quickly. Suddenly, the wedding was less than a week away. He had become so engrossed with his scheme of winning Sigyn over that he rarely even thought of it as a scheme at all. Despite himself, he was enjoying the time he spent with her. He was less moody, and his dark thoughts of Thor were less frequent than they had been in years. Nevertheless, as her cheerful, generous spirit warmed his, an uneasiness grew inside him. Somehow, he knew he didn’t deserve to be this happy. He didn’t deserve her. He tried to shrug it off as the same feeling of inadequacy he had always had when he compared himself to his elder brother, but this time the accusations of his conscience were not so easily assuaged.

No matter how he tried to defend his actions, he knew what he had done to Midgard--Hel, what he had done to Thor--was unforgivable. Hundreds, if not thousands of people had died during the Chitauri invasion, and that was ultimately his fault. The deal he had struck with Thanos, the threats that the Mad Titan made against his home planet, even the torture that he had suffered at his cruel hands were irrelevant. He was Loki, the god of mischief, the cleverest being in the Nine Realms. There must have been some other way he could have saved his people without sacrificing the humans. But the brutal fact was that he hadn’t cared enough to try. He had tried to take the easy way instead, the way that would still allow him to become the ruler of somewhere. His desire for vengeance on his brother had once again clouded his better judgement, and others had suffered because of it. Never mind that they were puny mortals. Sigyn believed that all life mattered, and, in spite of himself, he was coming around to her point of view. Or perhaps, he had always known it to be true and simply found it more convenient to ignore that fact. Whatever the case, many had lost their lives because he decided on a whim that he was more important than they were.

And the terrible consequences of his actions went even farther than that. There would be a reckoning sooner or later he knew. Thanos would not be mocked. He was just biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to strike and claim the Tesseract as he promised he would with or without Loki’s help. And when that happened, nothing would save Asgard from his wrath.

With all of this guilt hanging over his head, how could he possibly hope to be worthy of her love? True, this had all started out as a simple bet, but he could not deny that it had become more. The fact that he found it more and more difficult to retain his disguise was clear proof of this. Twice now, he had let go of the enchantment that heated his Jotun blood, and of course, Sigyn being Sigyn had noticed it. He sometimes wished she wasn’t so astute, but inwardly he knew that if she were, he would love her less.

Love? Was that what this was? Honestly, he had no idea. From what he gathered, members of his race weren’t exactly hard-wired to love as was evidenced by his birth family’s cruel abandonment. Had he ever really loved anyone in his life? A year ago, he would have said that he loved his mother, but that had been before his callous last words to her, denying their relationship completely. If he had truly loved her, how could he have said those things? It was likely the same with Sigyn. If what he felt for her was really love, shouldn’t he tell her the truth? Every time he considered that option, a silent fear took root deep in his mind, and the only way to stunt its growth was to tell himself that he was far too deep into this deception to untangle himself now. He couldn’t even bring himself to summon her book back from the dimension where he had hidden it lest she discover the deception on her own. Love, he decided, was simply not in his nature. Could there be any more damning evidence of this than his broken relationships with those closest to him?

The only way to shake off these dismal thoughts was to turn his intellect back to impressing Sigyn, which of course started the cycle all over again. At least in the planning stages, he was usually able to drown out his conscience by running through possible courtship scenarios and trying to determine how she’d react. But somehow, despite how well he was coming to know her, Sigyn never seemed to respond the way he’d imagined. He couldn’t determine whether this was a positive or a negative sign, but if the way his own heart behaved as a result was any indication, he must secretly enjoy his inability to predict her.

On the Ides of June, he decided to prepare an intimate dinner for her in the palace. Typically, they had enjoyed their meals out of doors in the secret grove. The weather had been warm and sunny nearly every day, even more so than usual for Asgard. As Theoric, Loki had jokingly attributed this to the absence of the resident thunder god, but his assessment was probably more accurate than he knew. Once, they had even supped outside the House of Healing when Sigyn insisted that she wanted to introduce him to her fellow healers. He had suffered through this ordeal with what he considered proper grace and decorum. (Although, truth be told, she had frowned once when he compared one goddess’s collapsed hairdo to an oriole nest.)

Despite the glorious summer clime, Loki, who typically spent the majority of his time indoors, was becoming a bit sickened by all the sunshine and the fresh air. He determined that the only cure for this was a sumptuous three-course dinner served in the Crimson Hawks’ private dining area, which was, of course, abandoned now that they were stationed near the passage to Jotunheim. He had used his charm, along with a forged note from the ailing Allfather, to convince the palace chefs to lavish their considerable talents on a private meal for two. He had also sneaked down to the wine cellar and procured several large bottles of an ancient vintage that he hoped nobody would miss.

Now, as the sunset was spilling onto the stone floor of the dining room, Sigyn entered in a gown of sage green with a saffron underskirt. Her eyes sparkled as he politely pulled out the small wooden bench for her. Then he circled to the other side of the table, flourishing his dark cloak as he, too, sat down.

“Dinner isn’t quite ready yet,” he said, while pouring himself a goblet of wine.

“Oh?” Sigyn arched an eyebrow. “And you are not the one preparing it?”

“Sigyn, please,” he scoffed as he lifted the cup. “I’m a warrior, not a chef.”

She offered him her own vessel as he placed his back on the table. He grinned and filled it nearly to the brim. She carefully raised it to her own ruby lips and drank deeply. “Ye gods!” she sputtered after swallowing. “This is the strongest drink I’ve ever tasted. Wherever did you procure such a potent potable?”

Loki laughed and refilled his own goblet. “Oh, trust me, I have my sources.”

“Well, I won’t be drinking too much of this until I’ve had something to eat,” she said, her cheeks already rosy from the warmth of the alcohol.

He shrugged and continued to quaff the delicious beverage. “Suit yourself. More for me then.” She sat staring at him in what could only be silent judgement as he filled his glass yet again.

Now he was becoming annoyed. Not only was she a prude, but apparently a teetotaler as well. Yet he felt guilty even as he thought it. What must she think of him, downing glass after glass while she primly waited for her food to arrive? Of course, the notion that he was disappointing her in some way made him want to drink even more. Damn his cyclical destructive behavioural patterns!

Sigyn seemed to sense his discomfort and raised her goblet to his. “Let us drink a toast to our lives together,” she said with a shy smile.

His heart rate sped slightly as he met her eyes. Whatever he had perceived as censure was completely absent from her gaze now. Perhaps he had only imagined it. “To an eternity of wedded bliss,” he agreed as their glasses met with a metallic clink.

Twenty minutes later, the food hadn’t arrived yet, and Loki was beginning to wish he hadn’t drunk quite so much so quickly. The three magnums were now empty on the table, and he was fairly certain Sigyn hadn’t even finished her first serving yet. He could be wrong, but remembering how much wine he had actually drunk would require him to not have drunk as much as he had. Wait, did that make any sense? He was fairly certain it didn’t.

“How kind of the Allfather to allow us the use of his personal kitchen staff in this way,” she was saying. Or at least he thought that’s what she had said. She spoke so softly that it was hard to tell sometimes. Also, he had the vague impression that he might be going slightly deaf. Oh, well.

“He can be nice sometimes,” he slurred cheerfully, and his voice sounded loud even to him, “but usually only when Thor’s done something brilliant and useful and he’s in a good mood. And you can guess how often that’s happened.” He giggled--yes giggled--a bit hysterically, much to the alarm of a distraught Sigyn.

“How now, Theoric?” Sigyn asked in concern. “Are you feeling quite yourself?”

“Myself?” he asked in confusion. “Now that would be interestering. If I could only figure out which myself you meant…”

She blinked at him, clearly befuddled by his last statement. What was her problem anyway? He wasn’t speaking in Latin, at least he didn’t think so. Besides, knowing Sigyn, the show-off probably spoke that language, too, just like she had all the others he had thrown at her. Didn’t she know that women weren’t supposed to be smarter than the men they married? Or at the very least they should pretend to be stupider if only to make them feel better. Was stupider even a word? It sounded stupid.

“Which yourself?” she repeated helpfully, her soft eyes searching his for the answer.

Oh, shit. Shit shit shit. He had almost given himself away. Damn, Midgard swears were fun. He should use them more often. Focus, Loki, get a grip. “I mean, you never can really know a person, can you?” he explained quickly, praying that his silvertongue wouldn’t fail him now. “A wise man once said, ‘Character is what you are in the dark.’ You, my dear, have never been in the dark with me. Ergo, how do you really know who I am?” He was rambling incoherently, wasn’t he? Shit.

Sigyn’s already flushed cheeks darkened a shade. “Are you implying that tonight I’m seeing the real Theoric for the first time? The Theoric that I will only see again on our wedding night?”

The real Theoric.That was a loaded phrase if ever he heard one. “I am outright telling you that there are many different facets to my personality. Whatever I choose to show you is what you see. Perhaps I am revealing a different side to you right now and that is why I don’t ‘feel myself’ to you. Or yourself. Or whatever it was you were just inquiring about.” Ugh. He needed to just stop talking. Where was their dinner anyway? He made a mental note to fire the entire kitchen when he returned to Odin-form.

She sipped her wine thoughtfully. “I confess: I used to think there was only one version of you: an honourable if slightly bloodthirsty soldier. But when you returned from your latest campaign, you finally acquainted me with other sides of your nature. You are a soldier yes, but you are also a reader, a jester, a philosopher, a scholar, a lover…” She quickly looked at her lap after this last remark.

“Exactly,” he said with a wild gesture of his arm. _She really thinks me all of those things?_ he thought with astonishment. Of course, she didn’t know he was also a trickster, a liar, a schemer, a thief, a murderer, a pathetic creature who was so wildly jealous and insecure that he would send a good man on a pointless mission three weeks before his wedding just so he could woo said warrior’s fiancee.

His face must have betrayed his distress, for Sigyn reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “You shouldn’t drink so much, my love,” she whispered gently. “The wine has drowned you in melancholy.”

“Oh, Sigyn,” he said as quietly as he could in his intoxicated state. “I wish you could see every side of me and, at the same time, am heartily glad that you cannot.”

They sat there in silence for a few moments, Sigyn seeming to ponder his words. Her lips were parting as though to speak when a young woman entered, pushing a gilded serving cart bearing a fine china tureen.

“Oh, impeccable timing,” he grumbled under his breath as she began to ladle the soup into two elegant shallow bowls.

“I beg your pardon, Sir Theoric?” the kitchen wench asked with a slight inclination of her head.

Sigyn, who had obviously heard him, said, “Never you mind, dear.” She dipped her golden spoon into the dish and daintily sipped at the soup.

Loki followed suit and was startled to discover that the broth was cold. The serving-girl noticed the face he was making and asked, “Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?”

Loki was about to ream the poor thing out for her incompetence when Sigyn interrupted him yet again. “The gazpacho is lovely, thank you.”

Oh. That was a soup that was supposed to be chilled, if he recalled correctly. It made much more sense to serve that on a hot summer’s day than the typical bisque or consomme. If his cheeks weren’t already pricked with heat from the excessive amount of wine he had drunk, they would surely have reddened now.

The girl curtseyed and left the room, presumably to retrieve their entree. He barely dared to meet Sigyn’s eyes as they continued to sup. When he did, he was surprised by the compassion that he saw shimmering in their depths. _Do not fret, my love,_ they seemed to say. _I realise you are having a bad day. I’m not sure why you are so disheartened this evening, but I am here if you need me._  
  
Sigyn gave a sudden cough and dropped her spoon with a clatter. “Oh, forgive me!” she exclaimed, raising trembling fingers to her blanched face. “I didn't mean to telepath without your permission. I’m not even quite sure how it happened. Ordinarily, I find this method of communication quite taxing. I’ve never done it unintentionally before, I swear!”

Loki couldn’t help smirking a little at her distress. So, he hadn’t imagined it. Apparently, he was not the only one who was having difficulty keeping his thoughts to himself. He found it infinitely endearing that she felt the need to even confess let alone apologize for her innocent intrusion. “‘Tis quite alright, my dear,” he said soothingly. “It happens to the best of us.”

The creased lines in her forehead told him that she was uncertain of his meaning. “Can you transmit thought messages as well?” she asked incredulously. “I still haven’t determined who tried to contact me that night in the common area. Was it you?”

Loki cursed the blasted beverage that had loosened his tongue. Throughout this whole charade, he had tried his hardest not to tell Sigyn any direct lies. He usually fared better with his deceptions when he spun half-truths or spoke in double meanings. But now, he was effectively trapped by his own loquacious leanings which had been compounded by the quantity of alcohol he had consumed. “If it was me,” he began haltingly, “then it was most certainly an accident. No one ever taught me how to project my thoughts that way. Maybe I have a natural gift for it?”

There, he had done it. He once again managed to be honest without telling the whole story. It was accurate enough that no one had ever trained him to use his mental abilities in that way. He had somehow always been slightly telepathic. In fact, he secretly suspected that he had connected that way with Odin when he had liberated him from his doom on Jotunheim as a baby. That the nudge into her mind had been a mistake was also true. Then why did he feel as guilty as if he actually had told a bold-faced lie?

Sigyn was apparently unaware of his silent self-blame, for she had brightened considerably and not just due to the moonlight that cascaded through the window and onto her radiant face. “I believe we are psychically linked somehow,” she said excitedly. “I’ve heard of it happening before, but it is extremely rare and usually only occurs between two highly intelligent mages who have known each other intimately over a long period of time.” She frowned slightly. “Though, in sooth, that description doesn’t really apply to us, does it?” She looked to him for a better explanation.

“Then perhaps,” Loki said quietly, “we truly are soulmates.” His penetrating gaze locked with her timid one. He knew it sounded like the cheapest line ever, but he was shocked and dismayed to discover that he actually believed it.

Sigyn shivered, and Loki knew it wasn’t merely from the cool evening breeze blowing through the open window. “I always knew our paths were fated to cross,” she whispered, leaning toward him so that he felt her sweet breath on his face. “From the very first day that we met outside the palace gate.” She glanced down at her hands. “For so long, I considered that day the worst of my entire life, but now…” She looked directly at him again, and he felt pinned to his chair by those captivating deep blue eyes.

“The w-worst day of your life?” he stammered, afraid to hear the answer. “But why?  
  
She sighed and leaned back in her chair, pushing her empty bowl away. “Pray do not think me foolish, dear Theoric, but that was the day when I-” She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “When I realised that my feelings for Prince Loki were indeed unrequited.”

Loki’s mind whirled, trying to think of what event she could possibly mean. “Tell me everything,” he commanded gently yet firmly.

Sigyn proceeded to relate exactly what had conspired that long-ago day. She shared her childish anticipation of a visit to the prince’s library and her bitter disappointment when she had found him in the arms of another goddess. The more she talked, the more bemused he became. His memories of that day were entirely incompatible with hers. He recalled Lorelei bursting into his library and trying to convince him that they should be the rulers of the Nine Realms. He remembered being anxious about Sigyn coming into the antechamber and overhearing her lunatic overtures, so he had cast a ward, hoping she would stay outside until he disposed of her. He had a vague impression of Lorelei coming toward him, her bright eyes full of lust and lustre and then...nothing. He must have pushed her away. Sigyn had never arrived as far as he knew. She had left him standing there on his own like the fool he was. His brother said he had overheard her telling someone that she never wanted to see him again. There was no reason given, no explanation to soothe his pain at the loss of his closest friend. Thinking back on it now, Loki noticed that there were huge chunks missing in his reconstruction, and he doubted that he could blame these on his inebriated state. What had happened between his rejection of Lorelei’s advances and the conversation with Thor?

Just then, the door opened, and the serving girl arrived with their entree, which apparently was a roast of some freshly hunted game. She collected the bowls and spoons and laid out the platter of meat so they could both easily reach it. Then, after quickly yet deftly laying out their plates and silverware, she disappeared once again.

Sigyn stared at him meaningfully and tilted her head toward the roast. “Would you care to carve?”

Loki shook his head as though to clear the fog that had been building within. “Gladly, my beloved,” he said with the faintest of smiles. As he sliced into the tender flesh of what had formerly been a woodland animal of some sort, he secretly suspected that his knife would be better served by plunging into the breast of a different creature entirely. One with a mesmeric voice and a halo of flaming ginger hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ides of June - the ides are the fifteenth day of the month
> 
> Loki's alcohol tolerance - As he is not of earth, Loki's threshold for tipsiness is likely quite high. That's why I had him drink three magnums of extremely potent Asgardian wine before becoming inebriated.
> 
> Loki's cursing - Loki confines his harsh language to Hel and damn in the first two Thor movies, but he begins to use more colourful speech in _Ragnarok_. This may be due to the fact that the script was partially improvised, but my assumption is that Asgardians don't use the typical crude expressions that Midgardians do. Loki may have picked up on some of these words during his time on Midgard or from a book.
> 
> "Character is what you are in the dark" - a quote from Dwight L. Moody, an author and evangelist of the nineteenth century. Apparently, Loki is quite eclectic in his reading.


	12. It's In His Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theoric meets a tragic fate, and Sigyn breaks her vow never to kiss anyone besides her husband. ;)

Sigyn placed the covered clay pot in the centre of the long table outside the House of Healing. “Dinner is served!” she called cheerfully, and the other ladies seated nearby leapt to their feet.

“I hardly think it fair that you had to prepare the community meal on the night before your wedding,” said Astrid, one of the apprentice healers.

“‘Tis just the way the dice fell,” Sigyn protested with a smile. “My turn to cook just happened to fall on this lovely lovely evening.”

“What’s so special about _this_ evening?” Astrid retorted with a raised eyebrow. “‘Tis tomorrow evening when all the magic happens.”

The other girls all giggled appreciatively at the implications of this remark. Sigyn felt her cheeks heat up for what was probably the hundredth time that day. “Too true,” she whispered, taking deep breaths to cool her flaming face.

As the rest of her coworkers sat down to eat, Sigyn removed the pot’s lid and idly stirred the stew she had prepared. Now that her wedding night had been mentioned, Sigyn’s insides churned with adrenaline and longing. She suddenly had no appetite whatsoever; well leastways, not for food.

Her ears perked suddenly when she heard someone mention the Crimson Hawks. “I beg your pardon,” she said, addressing the table from whence the overheard phrase had come. “But could you repeat what you just said?”

“I merely stated that it’s a shame about what happened to the Crimson Hawks,” a healer named Medica said sadly.

Fear prickled the back of Sigyn’s neck and sent a chill all the way down to her toes. “What happened?” she demanded.

“I would have thought Theoric would have told you,” Medica replied. “A band of Rock Trolls crossed the border into Asgard. They must have used that stupid passageway the late prince uncovered. Anyway, rumour has it the Crimson Hawks were ambushed and slaughtered--every one of them.”

Sigyn’s blood turned to ice in her veins. “Oh, no,” she gasped, covering her face with her hands. The wooden spoon she had been holding dropped to the table with a dull thud. The other healers turned to look at her with pity evident on their faces. “Excuse me,” she breathed and ran off toward the palace.

She wasn’t sure where Theoric would be eating his evening meal, but she thought that the Crimson Hawks' dining room might be a good place to start. Although if the tale she’s just been told was true, the Allfather’s personal bodyguards would not be in the palace at all. She nearly screamed in frustration when she was stopped by two of the secondary gate guards and had to explain who she was and where she was headed. Finally, she threw open the door, praying that she would find a dining hall full of red-clad warriors. But the room was empty.

Sigyn could tell from the heat building behind her eyes that she was mere seconds away from breaking down into inconsolable sobs. She turned and ran back into the common area--and right into Theoric.

“We really need to stop meeting this way,” he said with a chuckle. His chocolate eyes searched her face for a moment. “Why, what is the matter, my darling?”

She buried her face in his jerkin. “You’re safe; you’re safe,” she repeated over and over again like a mantra. A wave of calm washed over her as she felt her own heart synchronize with his pulse’s slow, steady rhythm. She sighed in contentment as she felt the weight of his strong hand stroking her hair.

“Why wouldn’t I be safe?” he asked, tilting her head up toward his. “The wars are over, sweetheart. Nothing can part us now.”

Sigyn scanned the familiar features of his face greedily as if she would never have her fill of them. “I heard a rumour,” she began hesitantly.

Theoric’s gaze darkened. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” he muttered in an ominous tone that she had never heard him use before. The unfamiliar edge to his voice sent a shiver through her whole body and made her skin prickle uncomfortably.

Ignoring her trepidations, she continued. “Supposedly, the Crimson Hawks were besieged by the Rock Trolls near the secret way into Asgard.” The words felt ridiculous to her even as she spoke them. “But that, is of course, nonsense. If that were true, you would be with them.”

Theoric’s eyes darted in panic for a moment before returning to hers. “What you say could indeed be true. The Allfather gave me a special assignment. I have been guarding him personally at night after the healers leave for the day. As long as I yet live, Odin shall be safe as well.”

Sigyn couldn’t help being relieved that her betrothed had been spared this onslaught, but she could tell that he was feeling guilty for abandoning his men, even if he was acting under orders. “Be not aggrieved, dear Theoric. You are performing your duty as you ought; there is no shame in that. Besides,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “Fortune has seen to it that you are safe here with me. ‘Tis a selfish thought, I know, yet it gives me comfort.”

The conflict on his face was still evident, but Sigyn could tell her words were quelling his unease. “Sigyn,” he said finally, looking straight at her, “you are the least selfish person I have ever met. I pray you, do not give another thought to your so-called baser impulses.”

She shook her head defiantly. “No, please allow me to be wildly possessive of you. I assure you, giving into my darker whims has proven to be rather liberating.” She was silent for a moment, and looked at him--nay, truly saw him for the first time. He was handsome to be sure with his rugged jawline, dark eyes, and wavy hair. But although these features were not unpleasant, she suddenly seemed to perceive the soul beneath his ruddy skin, and it was beautiful. Flawed, but magnificent. And she knew that he could see hers, too. In that moment, she knew she loved him and could never let him go, consequences be damned. She flung herself at him, nestling her golden head into the crook of his neck. She inhaled his skin, memorizing its scent with every beat of her wildly fluttering heart. She tiptoed slightly and whispered directly into his ear, “I would also appreciate it if you were never parted from me henceforth.”

“I would that I could promise you that, my love,” he replied softly, turning her face toward him and brushing his lips lightly over her temple, making her quiver with pleasure. “However, I will say that I have no plan at present to embark on a European tour with my brilliant poetry.”

Sigyn punched him lightly in the arm, even as she laughed at his reference to _The Saga of Gunnlaug Wormtongue_. “Trust you to spoil the moment with a jest,” she teased. “Although, I see you more as Hrafen than Gunnlaug.”

“I should hope so,” he returned, grinning. “Hrafen actually bedded the lady.”

Heat flooded her face at yet another mention of their upcoming wedding night. “He married the lady first, Theoric. Do not forget that important detail.”

“Oh, I have not forgotten,” he murmured, his eyes searching hers. “I forget nothing.”

Sigyn was glad that someone’s memory was unaffected by this moment because she couldn’t even recall her name. Although he hadn’t said the words, she knew he loved her, too. Wrapping her arms around him, she laced her fingers through his dark hair and pulled him toward her. He seemed surprised for a moment, even perhaps a little off-balance, but he leaned in willingly. Sigyn’s eyelids dropped involuntarily as their lips met, and the last thing she saw was that his eyes were closing, too. Her mouth fumbled slightly for a second until his took control and the kiss deepened. She wondered vaguely how he had become so good at this, but her thoughts were quickly drowned by a rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her reason completely. She even lost control of her mana for an instant, the power escaping from between her fingertips like water through a sieve. But then, this was no ordinary kiss. Not only was it her first kiss, but it would be her last first kiss. Even if she had not made her vow of fidelity to the man on whom she bestowed it, she knew that she could never kiss anyone but him now as long as she lived.

As the eternal instant ended, she suddenly found herself looking into a pair of light blue irises tinged with green. She gasped and quickly pulled away, heart pounding. He reached for her hand, and his touch was colder than it had been before. And didn’t his hair seem to be darker as well?

“Pray, what is the matter?” said the voice that she had only heard in her dreams during the last two long years.

She felt as if she had been thrown into the icy waters of the waterfall once more. Trembling, she looked back up at his face, but it seemed normal now. The eyes were brown once again, his hair curly and auburn, and the hand that held hers was quickly warming. But whether she had imagined what she had seen and heard and felt was irrelevant. She knew the truth.

“Nothing,” she lied, slowly sliding her hand away from his. She hated herself for her reluctance to do so. “‘Tis only my oath.”

He chuckled, and she bristled at his smugness. “Oh, you needn’t worry about that. You merely promised you would only kiss your husband. I may not fit that description today, but tomorrow…”

She couldn’t shake the cold chills cascading down her body. She had almost married him without knowing who he really was. “Is this really a time to play with semantics?” she asked, backing away, shivering. “I take my vows seriously, I’ll have you know.”

“As do I,” he agreed readily, his brow creased in confusion. “Sigyn, you aren’t having second thoughts are you? Tell me, was my kiss so terrible? I admit to being slightly out of practice...”

“No,” she admitted. Far from it, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much she enjoyed it, how deeply it was still affecting her despite what she now knew. She had some serious thinking to do. “I must take my leave of you,” she said in a rush. “‘Tis too close to the wedding. You shall not see me until then.”

She gathered up her skirts and hurried back through the palace and past the guards, every muscle in her body throbbing. As she ran through the town, strangers turned to gawp at her in her wild haste. Let them judge her if they liked. She would continue to run as though the Fenris Wolf pursued her. She turned to look behind as though the slavering beast might actually be nipping at her heels. But no one was there. Not even her faux fiance dared to give chase. She fought a wave of disappointment at his absence, but she knew she needed to be alone for the present. Soon, she reached the familiar vine carvings of her front portal. She threw the door open, and quickly slammed it, locking it behind her and leaning heavily against it. None of her fellow healers would be returning home for a good quarter hour yet. They should still be outside the House of Healing eating the supper she had abandoned when she heard the news of the Rock Trolls’ attack.

Sigyn took a few shuddering breaths before sliding down to the floor, hot tears running down her face. She swallowed hard as though trying to digest the unfathomable truth. Loki was alive. Loki was alive, and he loved her. After all the years she had hated him for his bitter betrayal, he finally returned her love. Her girlhood crush had been fully realised, but not in the way she could have ever expected. Although, this _was_ the god of mischief she was talking about. She should have known that the only way he would see fit to court her was through lies and deceit. And yet what choice did he have? He was thought to be dead by all of Asgard, so of course he had to resort to trickery. No. She refused to defend him. There was always another way to accomplish one’s goals without resorting to dishonesty, wasn’t there?

Sighing, she tried to arrange her thoughts in an order that made sense. Loki supposedly had died a hero, so why was he afraid to return to Asgard alive? Come to think of it, why had he faked his death in the first place? This seemed a bit extreme to be a simple jest, especially since it had gone on for months now. What was his game? What could he do as someone else that he could not do as himself? Somehow she knew his brother, Prince Thor, was the key. What had Thor done recently? Well, he had renounced his claim to the throne, but that only helped Loki once Odin was dead, assuming that the succession would still go to him after that nonsense with the Chitauri war on Midgard. Odin wasn’t dead yet, but he had been ill since the night of the banquet. Come to think of it, the Allfather had been acting oddly even before that. Since the feast, no one had seen him, and Theoric had been the one acting strangely. So before Loki had been Theoric he had been...Odin? Then where was the real…

A surge of adrenaline slammed into Sigyn’s chest, knocking all the breath from her lungs. Had Loki actually slain his own father? No, that couldn’t be right. He wouldn’t… Loki’s relationship with the Allfather had always been strained, but she couldn’t make herself believe that he would kill him in cold blood just to gain the throne. Loki was devious, to be sure, but premeditated murder was beyond him, she was certain. She had to be because…

She closed her eyes, squeezing the now cooling tears down her cheeks. She _loved_ him. She _still_ loved him despite everything. She loved _him_ , not Theoric. She always had, even when she was spewing venom at him, hoping it would burn him as much as he had hurt her. She never would have wasted the energy on someone she truly despised. She always had loved him, even when she agreed to marry someone else. She always had loved him, even when she had twice heard the crushing news of his death. She always had loved him… Well, maybe not on that first day; that had just been infatuation with his celebrity and his charm. But since shortly after that, ever since she knew him, really knew him, she had loved him with all her heart. She knew now that she always would. No matter what idiotic schemes he concocted, no matter what lies he told, no matter who he ended up hurting, she would always forgive him and believe that he could be better.

What then could be done? She loved him; moreover she had given her oath to him that she would never love another with that world-stopping kiss. She was due to become his bride at this time tomorrow, and she had never wanted anything else so badly in her entire life. And yet he had lied to her and done the gods knew what with Odin in order to usurp his throne. He had wounded her pride by his deception, and offended her sense of morality by his treachery. He must and should be punished...and she was exactly the person to do it. After all, this wasn’t the first time that she found herself tasked with disciplining the former prince of Asgard. She cast her mind back to that day two years ago when Frigga had first asked for her aid toward that end.

As she recalled, it had been a summer afternoon much like today's. Sigyn had been Queen Frigga’s handmaiden for about a year at that point. She spent the bulk of her time following her majesty around and making sure she was comfortable and protected every hour of the day. This particular day had been a rough one for the queen. The Allfather was confined to his bed in a state of unconsciousness bordering on Odinsleep. His energy was still drained from using the Dark Energy to send Prince Thor down to Midgard to retrieve his errant brother. Heimdall had rushed to the throne room early that morning to inform Frigga that there was a disturbance in the skies above Midgard that could only have been caused by an Infinity Stone. The queen had bolted to the Observatory with her retinue in tow and Heimdall had given them a detailed account of the Battle of New York as it had happened. Sigyn could still recall the sick feeling that had sat like a boulder in the pit of her stomach as she listened. Finally, she had been able to bear it no longer and ran out onto the Rainbow Bridge which was still being reconstructed.

As she stood there, a mist of tears fogging up her vision, she became aware of a swishing of skirts behind her. She turned to see Queen Frigga standing there looking as bedraggled as she had ever seen her. Which is to say that a few wisps of her reddish gold hair had fallen out of her elaborate updo, and her lovely gown was creased as though she had fallen asleep in it the previous evening. Sigyn, as one of her attendants, knew for a fact that she had sat up all night on her throne in Valhalla waiting for news of her traitorous son.

“Come, Lady Sigyn,” said Frigga in a voice that was far too kind considering the circumstances. “What you require is a project.”

“My queen!” she exclaimed with a curtsey. “Please do not trouble yourself on my account. The harrowing events of the past few days have taken a much greater toll on your spirits than mine.”

Frigga smiled sadly. “Are you certain of that, my child?” she asked, searching her handmaiden’s eyes for the answer.

Sigyn bristled at the implication of her words. “I do not apprehend your meaning, your majesty. The prince remains your son, despite his misdeeds. I have no attachment to him in the slightest.” The queen’s knowing gaze pierced straight through her pretense at apathy. “Well, not anymore.”

“Don’t you?” Frigga shook her head. “You are impossible, the pair of you. Perhaps that is why I always surmised that you would make a fine match.”

Sigyn’s eyes widened in shocked disbelief. “A fine match? Myself and Loki?” She hoped her face displayed the disgust that she was wont to convey. “Nay, my queen. I must protest that you are much mistaken in that opinion.”

“You were always so good for him,” Frigga mused. She paused, looking out over the Rainbow Bridge to the void below as though she could see him now. “He never learned so much about self-control and discipline as he did when he was with you. You challenged him both mentally and emotionally in ways that no one else ever could.”

Sigyn fought the rising tide of emotion that threatened to drown her resolve toward indifference. “So, you saw me as a fetter for him, then?” she retorted, eyes burning and throat constricting with tears that she refused to shed. “A chain to keep him from harming himself or others. Did it ever occur to you that while I was constraining him, I, too, was a prisoner?”

Frigga sighed and touched her subordinate lightly on the arm. “You are speaking from a place of hurt and betrayal, my dear. I was never told exactly why the two of you had such a falling out, but I do not believe that is the way you truly feel.”

“How can you claim to perceive that which I do not know myself?” she choked, and the tears began in earnest. They trickled down in rivulets, making muddy tracks in her rouged cheeks.

Frigga pulled Sigyn toward her in a firm embrace. They stood there for a few moments, their skirts flapping wildly about them in the strong afternoon breeze. After a long silence, Frigga tilted Sigyn’s chin and stroked her damp cheek with her other hand. “Come, let us put all of this raw passion to a proper use, shall we?”

Sigyn acquiesced, and the two of them made the long trek back to the palace. Once inside, Frigga led her charge to a huge door she had never seen before. With a wave of her hand, the latch made a loud click and the heavy oak door swung open. Frigga summoned a ball of magic energy to light their way, and they descended a long stone staircase.

It didn’t take Sigyn long to figure out that they were headed to the Asgardian dungeon. She shuddered to think of the unsavoury characters that were housed within. Frigga led her down the long main corridor where dozens of rooms full of the worst criminals in the Nine Realms flanked either side of them. Several of them jeered at them as they passed, banging their fists against the transparent gold-filigree of the magic walls. One particular prisoner caught her eye, a startlingly beautiful woman with a familiar shock of bright red hair. Sigyn stopped in her tracks and stared. Lorelei was curled up in a miserable ball on the floor, a cruel black muzzle concealing her crimson lips. Sigyn shivered and quickly moved on.

Finally, they reached an empty cell. The brightness of the walls nearly overwhelmed her as she peered inside. The furniture was sparse, consisting of a bed, several small end tables, and an ornamental chair with a matching footstool. Sigyn swallowed as she realised its intended occupant.

“This cell is, of course, already outfitted with an anti-magic field,” Frigga stated far too-matter-of factly. “‘Tis the same type that we are using to subdue the siren, Lorelei.”

Sigyn felt queasy just thinking about the girl huddled in a mass of tangled limbs. No matter what she had done, no one deserved to be treated that way.

“Unfortunately,” Frigga continued, “There are few practisers of the art that are as powerful as Loki. As I am one of the handful of spellweavers that is considered roughly his equal, it was suggested that I should be the one to test its effectiveness.”

“No,” Sigyn said firmly. “Permit me.”

Frigga’s eyebrow shot up, and Sigyn wondered if she had overstepped. “You claim to be the god of mischief’s equivalent in sorcery?”

“Not in all sorcery,” she said in a more sedate tone, “but I am his superior in at least one.”

Frigga’s lips pressed themselves into a grim smile. “By all means,” she said, gesturing toward the cell. “Your impressive seidr is the very reason I brought you here.”

Immediately, the shimmering golden barrier that served as the doorway descended and Sigyn timidly walked up the steps into the chamber. She turned around and looked at her queen, giving her a slight nod. With a twist of her wrist, the wall rose again.

Sigyn winced at the sudden overwhelming pressure that surrounded her. It was as though she had swum to the bottom of the ocean and the full weight of millions of gallons of water pressed down on her, squeezing all of the air out of her lungs. She clapped her hands to her ears in agony and fell to her knees, gasping. Frigga immediately released the force field and Sigyn stumbled back to her feet taking deep shuddering breaths.

“You cannot confine him here,” she sobbed between gulps of air. “You will kill him.” She looked up and saw her own tears mirrored in the queen’s face. She was exaggerating, she knew, but the force of the barrier pressing down on her had made her wish for death, and she was only under it for a few seconds. Loki was doomed to remain indefinitely. It might not destroy his body, but it would definitely crush his wild, beautiful, if deeply flawed, soul.

“‘Tis as I feared,” Frigga whispered. She cradled her head in her palms. “Yet what can be done?”

Sigyn bit her bottom lip, chewing it ragged over the next few minutes. Finally, an idea came to her. “Detach the anti-magic force field from the cell door,” she instructed calmly. “I would do it myself, but what I intend to do next will require all of my mana.”

Frigga’s hands wove an intricate pattern over the invisible wall. “There,” she declared when she had finished. She then sealed the cell once again, and Sigyn was relieved to discover that the suffocating pressure was gone.

Sigyn squinted up toward the ceiling. “Am I correct in assuming there are pipes in these walls?”

“The prisoners must be watered somehow,” Frigga admitted, her voice tilting upward in pitch. Her growing excitement indicated that she was beginning to catch on to Sigyn’s plan.

Closing her eyes, Sigyn reached out into the ether in search of the water’s latent energy. She squeaked when she found it. Taking slow deliberate breaths, she pulled its essence into the room with her. Once she had syphoned enough, she wove its spirit together with that of the magical walls. As soon as the two forces were properly bound together, Sigyn released herself from them. Suddenly, she felt as though she had walked all the way to Midgard. Her strength was sapped, and she collapsed on the floor.

When she regained consciousness, Frigga had reopened the cell and was leaning over her in concern. “I’m fine,” she mumbled as she struggled into a sitting position. “Did it work?”

“Well,” Frigga hesitated, “it’s difficult to be certain without him here. Neither of us are as vulnerable to water as he is. However…” Frigga rose and walked away, raising the wall as she did so. “Cast a spell,” she called.

Sigyn called on what little reserve of power she had left and changed the color of her hair to match the queen’s. “I can perform a transformation,” she said weakly.

“Now try to escape.”

Sigyn thrust the remnants of her mana stores at the walls, trying to force her way through. They held. When she looked at the queen again, Frigga’s eyes glowed with something that Sigyn hadn’t seen in them for months: hope.

Sigyn felt something akin to that hope now as she sat on the floor of her shared dwelling. She could save Loki from himself again, she just knew it. But she needed help. With a new sense of purpose, she scrambled to her feet and rushed into her bedroom. She hastily dipped a towel into the basin of water on her nightstand and wiped her face, removing all trace of the traitorous tears. A glance out of the window told her that the sun was going down. Despite the lateness of the hour, she knew Heimdall would still be awake. Wrapping her cloak around her against the chill of a heavy dew, she hurried toward the Observatory, the Rainbow Bridge sparkling sleepily beneath her sandal-clad feet in the glowing half-light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slaughter of the Crimson Hawks - In the comics, Loki sent the Rock Trolls to ambush the Crimson Hawks, but in my version, he is not directly responsible. More on this in Chapter 13.
> 
>  _The Saga of Gunnlaug Wormtongue_ \- Another reference to _Gunnlaugs saga ormstungu._ See chapter five for Loki's humourous summary. The irony here is that Loki stole Sigyn from Theoric just as Hrafen stole Helga from Gunnlaug. All three will likewise end up dead. :(
> 
> "lost control of her mana" - As we've seen before, Sigyn is adept at dispelling wards and illusions, especially Loki's. Her loss of control here causes Loki's guise to be temporarily disrupted.
> 
> Sigyn's flashback - this is a scene I invented that takes place near the end of _The Avengers._ It is my way of explaining how the implied magic dampener on Loki's cell in _The Dark World_ operates.


	13. I Should Have Known Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki seeks the truth about what really happened to Theoric and makes some startling revelations.

Loki didn’t often find himself at a loss for words, but this was one of those rare times. He watched Sigyn’s golden train disappear around a corner of the common room door frame and felt as though he had just said farewell to the sun forever. Something had shaken her to the core. He didn’t believe that she was merely upset about her so-called “oath,” not for a minute. Had he seen a spark of recognition in her eyes as he pulled back from that glorious kiss? No, it was impossible. If she truly had determined his true identity, she would have struck him across the face and immediately broken off their engagement. Sigyn was not a woman to be trifled with. Perhaps he should have taken that into consideration when he began this ridiculous masquerade. He never stopped to consider what she might actually do if she ever uncovered his plot, but now, his mind invented a litany of methods she could use to make his life a living Hel if she so chose.

He should run after her. The only way he would make it out of this damn situation unscathed was if he chased her down right now and told her the entire truth. There was no way around it. He should find her and confess immediately, throwing himself on her mercy and praying that she would forgive his insolence. Was it too much to ask that she still love him? Probably, but for some moronic reason he was desperate that she should. He couldn’t bear it if she never looked at him again the way she had mere moments before: as if he was her whole world and she would die rather than lose him.

Yet why should it matter to him so much what she thought of him? This had all been a game from the start. As long as he achieved his goal, he would remain the champion. But as he stood there, alone in the darkening room, he knew that he had already lost. Whether or not he went through with the ceremony tomorrow, Sigyn was the true conqueror. She had won the unwinnable prize. And why was he so surprised? Her very name meant “victorious girlfriend;” it was a foregone conclusion that the triumph would be hers and hers alone.

 _I. Love. Her._ The words slammed against his brain to the rhythm of his pounding heart. He had didn’t even know for certain what that truly entailed, but whatever it was, he perceived it was true. He had begun to suspect as much since that night by the fire when she had bared her soul to him in poetry, but the purity and sincerity of that kiss had confirmed it. As far as he was capable, what with his Jotun heritage and his twisted soul, he cherished her above anything else in the Nine Realms. He would even choose her over the Tesseract if he were given the option, he was certain. Well, almost certain. Hopefully, he would never be impaled on the horns of _that_ particular dilemma.

So he loved her. What of it? What did any of it mean? He grabbed at his hair in frustration and kicked a nearby chair with his booted foot. The realisation had simply reinforced the same vexatious illation he had reached when he feared her retribution: he had to come clean to her. Lay all of his sins on the table for her perusal and trust that she would be forgiving. He scoffed, although no one was near enough to hear him. Who was he trying to fool? This was Sigyn, who had held a grudge against him these past six hundred years for a crime he was now fairly certain he hadn’t committed. She could never find it in her heart to absolve him of these fresh iniquities. He only hoped that Lady Sif would apprehend that trollop Lorelei post haste so he could give her Hel for robbing him of the love of his immortal life forever.

Since he discerned that appealing to Sigyn’s mercy was a lost cause, the desire to pursue her should have lessened, but, much to his chagrin, it had not. Now he found that he wanted to follow her merely to ascertain if she was truly alright. Grumbling, he ran through the palace and out the gates, scanning the horizon for any trace of her. Surely, it had only been a few moments since she had left him. Catching up with her should be a simple enough matter.

As he approached the town, he could see that the Fates were against him, and they closely resembled the three people he least wanted to encounter.

“I say, Theoric,” called Fandral, stepping into his path and brandishing his sword. “Where are you running in such haste?”

“You best not be seeking the Lady Sigyn,” Volstagg added as he thumped the handle of his gigantic axe against his palm for emphasis. “She had an ill look when she passed this way not five minutes hence. I’d hate to meet the wastrel that caused her distress.”

Hogun merely grunted in agreement, but it was enough to send Loki skittering in the other direction, throwing a flippant “Goodbye” over his shoulder as he headed for the Rainbow Bridge. If he couldn’t comfort his beloved, he could do the next best thing: ensure that her fears for the true Theoric were unfounded.

Loki hesitated at the threshold of the Observatory. His relationship with Heimdall was awkward at the best of times, even when he had complete authority over him as the Allfather. Now that he was a mere soldier desiring news of his fellows-in-arms, that relationship was more tenuous than ever.

“I knew you would come,” boomed a voice, causing Loki to step backward in alarm. Heimdall’s glowing all-seeing eyes were fixed directly on him.

“I know, I know,” he replied in irritation as he entered the circular chamber. “You probably saw me when I left my room this morning, too.”

The solemn expression on Heimdall’s face did not waver. “You wish to verify the report you received about the Crimson Warriors,” he continued. “Truthfully, I expected you to arrive much earlier than this.” He paused before he spat the next word like a malediction. “Loki.”

Somehow, it should have been more shocking to him that the Guardian had discovered his secret, but Loki had always surmised it would only be a matter of time. Having it out in the open like this was strangely liberating. Sighing, he shimmered into his Aesir form. “How long have you known?”

“I had been suspicious of your behaviour for a while,” he admitted, leaning slightly on his enormous sword. “But when the Allfather became ill for so long, I knew something was amiss. After he had been confined to bed about a fortnight, Sigyn even asked me to officiate at your wedding in his stead. When she described her recent outings with ‘Theoric,’ I determined that you must have shed Odin’s skin for his.

“Usurping your father’s throne was bad enough, but I expected no less of you. At least I have seen that he is safe on Midgard. Meddling with that sweet, innocent lady’s heart...” He shook his head. “‘Tis despicable even for you, god of mischief.”

Loki humbly bowed his head, much to Heimdall’s apparent surprise. “Would it make you feel any better if I told you that my evil plan has cosmically backfired?”

Heimdall blinked slowly a few times. Then, he let go of a rumbling sardonic laugh. “You’re actually in love with her,” he stated.

“You truly do see all,” Loki hissed in annoyance.

Heimdall shifted so that he could focus one eye on Loki and the other at the rest of the universe. “Well, it should please you to know that your rival has indeed gone on to Valhalla, along with his entire regiment.”

Loki’s stomach may just as well have dropped through the floor and headed right for Muspelheim. “No,” he whispered.

“I’m afraid so.”

Loki himself couldn’t scry into faraway places without aid as Heimdall could, but he had no trouble at all picturing the grisly scene. He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyelids in a futile attempt to erase the carnage from his mind . “This whole scheme...it just got away from me…” he murmured.

“Funny how they tend to do that,” Heimdall said unfeelingly.

“You don’t understand!” Loki’s head snapped back up in defiance. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen!”

“No need to shout at me,” Heimdall said calmly. “‘Tis not my fault.”

“And I suppose you think it’s mine!” Loki retorted with a fury he hadn’t felt in a very long time. His fingers fairly itched to reach for his daggers and stab the accusatory look out of his opponent’s eyes. “I only sent him out of the way. I never meant-”

“Then what _did_ you mean?” Heimdall asked. His bright orange irises burned straight through to Loki’s soul. “That’s the trouble with you, Loki. You never think things through to their conclusions.”

“How was I to know the Rock Trolls would randomly attack?” His voice bordered on whining now, but he couldn’t help it.

Heimdall exhaled noisily through his nostrils. “There was nothing random about that ambush, and you know it.”

“You don’t presume that I had anything to do with it?” Loki paused and flinched under his companion’s steady gaze. “That’s precisely what you think, isn’t it?”

“Well, if it wasn’t you,” Heimdall returned, “then who was it?”

Loki quickly sifted through the events of the past three weeks. Who else would have had the means, the motive, and the opportunity to go down to Jotunheim and stir up--the answer was suddenly obvious. “Amora,” he snarled.

Heimdall’s appraising stare flickered. “Amora?” he asked, confusion evident in his voice.

“No wonder she’s been ignoring my attempts to contact her about her bloody sister. She claimed she had ‘pressing business’ in Jotunheim,” he recalled, anger burning white-hot in his normally cold blood. “But how did she know about my plan to send Theoric on that mission? He was scarcely apprised of it himself.” Loki replayed the scene with the Enchantress in his mind. Every detail of their meeting was crystal clear until the moment she had kissed him...Loki wished there were some tables in that room, for he would dearly love to flip them. “That harlot read my thoughts and then addled my mind so I wouldn’t remember it.”

“Not so nice when someone does it to you, is it?” Heimdall mocked.

“Oh, shut up and let me think,” Loki said irritably.

“Isn’t that how you got into this mess in the first place?” he quipped, the slight trace of a smirk on his lips.

“Unless you desire to taste my steel, I suggest you keep your comments to yourself.” Loki knew it was an idle threat. He couldn’t actually bring himself to kill or even maim his brother’s closest friend. He did, however, wish he still had the Casket of Ancient Winters so he could freeze the pompous ass’s mouth shut for a few hours.

Suddenly, Heimdall’s ears seemed to perk. He quickly moved toward the switch on the floor and inserted his sword, activating the Bifrost with a deafening roar. A moment later, a woman clothed in an emerald green gown appeared in the room.

“Speak of the devil,” Loki said bitterly.

“Nice to see you, too, darling,” Amora purred, tracing his lips with her finger. Loki fought the urge to bite that slender digit clean off.

“Amora,” breathed Heimdall, an odd expression on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see if Loki here enjoyed the wedding present I sent him.” The way the fading sunlight glinted off her sequined gown as she circled around the back of him reminded him of a snake. “Well?” she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder.

Loki grabbed her wrist, pulling her to face him again. He unsheathed one of his twin daggers and held it to the sensitive skin near her jugular. “This should give you a hint,” he growled.

She trilled a laugh, and Loki could feel his grip inadvertently loosen. “Come now,” she cooed. “I only did what you would have if you weren’t so preoccupied with playing the role of pathetic lover.”

“Why must everyone insist that they are more familiar with my mind’s inner workings than I am?” Loki said in frustration. “Am I truly that predictable?” The looks on Heimdall and Amora’s faces were all the confirmation he needed. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Amora said airily. With a snap of her finger, she appeared on the far side of the room, leaving Loki threatening the empty space she had formerly occupied. “Now there is nothing stopping you from being with your true love forever.” The disgusted way in which she said the phrase “true love” left no doubt in either of her listeners’ minds what she thought of _that_  concept.

“You may claim intimate acquaintance with me,” Loki retorted, “but you don’t know Sigyn. If she discovered the part I played in her fiance’s demise…” Loki sighed heavily. “She would never _look_ at me again let alone become my wife.”

Amora raised her delicately arched eyebrows. “Well, well, well. The god of mischief has fallen into his own trap. I can’t say I’m surprised. It was bound to happen sooner or later despite my attempts to prevent it.”

The room suddenly seemed to tilt on its axis. “What do you mean?” Loki asked, although he was afraid he already knew the answer.

“I’m not called ‘Amora’ for nothing,” she bragged, breathing onto her fingernails in self-congratulation. “I can recognize a pair of soulmates when I see one. And of course yours just had to be that self-righteous annoying little do-gooder. You were never going to live up to your true potential with that millstone hanging around your neck. I had to rescue you from that dreadful fate. That’s why I cast that love enchantment on my ridiculous sister six hundred years ago.”

Loki’s blood ran hot and cold at the same time. There was clearly something terribly wrong with him. He looked to Heimdall for support, but was denied even so much as a hint of acknowledgement, for his attention was completely directed at Amora. “You were responsible for Lorelei’s arrival in my library that day,” he said softly.

“Of course,” Amora admitted with a glint of pride. “Did you not find it strange that someone who despised you so thoroughly suddenly wanted to rule the Nine Realms with you?” She let off another peal of laughter that set his nerves dancing with an unwanted longing. “Not even you could be that egotistical.” Something in his face must have betrayed the embarrassing truth. “Oh, I see I was mistaken. Loki, Loki, Loki.” She wagged her finger at him in reproach.

“There are no words in any tongue that can properly express how much I loathe you.” The intensity of his voice was stark even to his own ears. “You have utterly ruined any chance of happiness that I could have had in the better part of the last millennium.”

He could tell she was startled at the extremity of his rage, but she did her best to remain posed and dignified. “Loki, please,” she said in a disparaging tone. “No one is that powerful. If you are unhappy, that is your own foolish choice. One needs not romantic love to have a fulfilled existence. You of all people should know that.”

Loki figured she was probably right. After all, his uncle, Mímir, had been a bachelor for millennia, and he seemed quite content to travel the Nine Realms in pursuit of knowledge. But there was no way in Hel he would give her the satisfaction of admitting that. “Perhaps not, but it couldn’t hurt,” was his pathetic reply.

“Well.” She tossed her cascade of platinum blonde hair. “It appears my work here is done. Send my regards to your bashful bride.”

Loki refused to even look at her. He turned his gaze to Heimdall, whose cheeks had taken on an odd ruddy hue. Was he actually blushing?

“Heimdall,” she turned to her silent companion. “I hear Vanaheim is lovely at this time of year.”

“Orders, Allfather?” Heimdall said, looking pointedly at Loki.

Loki smirked. He had almost forgotten. He was in control of this whole situation. He could direct Heimdall to send her anywhere in the Nine Realms that he chose. “Better make it Nidavellir,” he said in his best impersonation of his father.

Amora’s nose wrinkled in revulsion. “But I _hate_ dwarves. They are so disgusting and dirty. They have no notion of how a lady should be treated.”

“Oh, I am aware,” said Loki with a little of his usual flippancy.

“No!” she shrieked turning to Heimdall. “I command you upon your love for me to disobey.”

“I shall send you thence _because_ I love you,” Heimdall responded. “You clearly need some time to sort out your priorities. The dwarves will not harm you. In fact, you may actually learn something from their hard work and discipline.”

“Hard work?” she sputtered indignantly. “Do you realise how difficult it is to maintain this much perfect beauty?” She gestured at her entire curvaceous form. “If I go to Nidavellir, all of my efforts will come to naught.”

“True love sees beyond the surface,” Heimdall said without a trace of irony. Loki was impressed despite himself. Then, the Guardian activated the Bifrost once again. “Farewell, my lovely,” he said as she disappeared screaming into the void.

“You do realise I’m going to have to banish you for admitting a known enemy into Asgard,” Loki said, coming up behind him.

Heimdall rolled his eyes. “Whatever makes you happy, milord.”

Loki pondered that for a moment. What _did_ make him happy? Sigyn’s face appeared before him, but he quickly shook his head. He shouldn’t rely on her for happiness. It wasn’t fair to her or to himself. That was something he was going to have to work out on his own, and he could already tell it would be a struggle. Hadn’t it always been? But he knew if he could win her back that she would support him every step of the way.

Speaking of which, wasn’t that her approaching across the Rainbow Bridge now? He panicked for a moment, then recalled the escape potion that he always carried with him in case of emergency. He retrieved it from the pocket concealed in his cloak and uncorked it. A plume of smoke engulfed him and he teleported himself to his hidden copse. The sun had completely set by now, and his hideaway was mired in the gloom of dusk, which suited him just fine. He leaned against a familiar tree and closed his eyes. Regardless of what happened, it was going to be an interesting day. At this time tomorrow would he be as lonely and depressed as he was now or would he be in the arms of the only one who had ever made him truly feel alive? It was a mystery only time would reveal...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn - there are two possible meanings of her name "victorious girlfriend" and "friend of victory." I chose the one that made more sense in the context of the story.
> 
> "the horns of that particular dilemma" - Yes, I did just make an ironic reference to his ill-advised decision to steal the Tesseract from the vault when he was retrieving the crown of Surtur in _Ragnarok._
> 
> "the love of his immortal life" - the way Loki eventually refers to Sigyn in the comics after years of resenting being married to her. See the bottom centre panel [here.](https://78.media.tumblr.com/3ee66ce9709675ce5aa2eef5d16179a7/tumblr_inline_mo0bl4fRBj1qz4rgp.jpg)
> 
> Mímir - In the mythology, it is unknown whether Mímir was ever married. For the purposes of this story, I decided he was not.


	14. Who's Sorry Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn enlists Heimdall's aid in setting a trap for Loki.

Sigyn coughed lightly as she entered the Observatory. Was that smoke she smelled? She scanned the room and noticed a wisp of grey curling in the air near the Bifrost switch. She was about to ask Heimdall about it when he spoke first.

“How now, Sigyn?”

A common enough greeting, to be sure, but she sensed the trite phrase was pregnant with further meaning. “I scarce can say myself,” she admitted as she walked further into the room.

Heimdall appraised her thoughtfully, his arms crossed over his armour-plated chest. “You’ve been crying,” he stated with the merest hint of concern in his otherwise steady voice.

She took a deep, reassuring breath and nodded. There was no point denying the fact to the all-seeing Bifrost Guardian.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Heimdall said with a bow of his great head.

“I beg your pardon?” Sigyn asked in genuine perplexity.

“Your fiance, Theoric,” Heimdall said slowly. “Were you not told?”

“He is dead then,” she said quietly. She should have felt something, _anything_ at the passing of her true fiance, but her heart had frosted over again instead. She was more despondent at the probable cause of his demise than the actual fact of it.

“His whole regiment with him,” he confirmed.

Sigyn closed her eyes. _Loki, what have you done?_ she thought in despair. How could a marriage begun stained with blood ever hope to succeed?

Heimdall was clearly in no mood to talk, but upon seeing her beautiful face shrouded in misery, he could not hold back the truth any longer. “Apparently, it was orchestrated by Amora,” he finally said.

Sigyn’s saw the wonder in her blue eyes reflected back at her through Heimdall’s. “Then it was not Loki’s doing?”

“Not directly, no,” Heimdall agreed reluctantly.

Sigyn was so relieved that she almost missed Heimdall’s lack of reaction to her mention of the dead prince. “Then you knew about Loki?” she breathed.

Heimdall slowly nodded. “Aye, but I was not certain _you_ did.”

Sigyn heaved a great sigh. “I only just puzzled it out myself,” she admitted. Her lips turned downward, and her brow furrowed with the heavy knowledge that it had taken a kiss to show her what her heart had tried to tell her all along. “In sooth, I am ashamed of how long it took me. I had a fleeting premonition that something was amiss but _this_ …”

“What do you intend to do?” Heimdall asked with genuine interest.

Sigyn knew that the Allfather’s most loyal servant would likely disapprove of her answer, but she decided to give it anyway. “The wedding will proceed as originally planned,” she said determinedly. It must, or her entire being would be consumed with unquenchable desire.

Heimdall was not easily shaken, but she could tell that her response had made him uneasy. “But why, pray tell?”

“Someone has to curb his concupiscence,” she said firmly. She did not merely refer to his lust, although that was a consideration as well, and one she would gladly undertake. She also alluded to that irritating inclination of his to always make the wrong decisions regardless of what experience and reason tried to teach him.

Heimdall seemed to understand this intuitively although his golden irises flashed with surprise. “And why does that someone have to be you?” he demanded.

Sigyn’s eyes pleaded fervently with his. “Are you truly going to make me say it?”

Heimdall merely stared unblinkingly at her in reply, causing Sigyn’s vision to blur with unshed tears. “Because I love him.” There. She had finally said it loud. She had hoped that uttering the phrase would release the intangible burden that had latched itself to her soul, but she felt just as wretched as before. Everything was all wrong. This was not how it was supposed to happen. Love was supposed to set you free, not make you feel more a prisoner than ever.

“I see,” was all he would say.

She took several shuddering breaths before continuing. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, but since when has passion ever bent itself to reason? You of all people should know what it’s like when the heart chooses to bestow its blessed gift without one’s consent.”

Heimdall was clearly taken aback by her words. “You are aware of my feelings for the Enchantress, then?”

Sigyn had to smile at his naivete. “Heimdall, everyone knows about that, and that is how it should be. What use is love if we do not affix it to our bosoms like a badge of honour?”

“What use indeed?” he mused.

They stood in companionable silence for a few moments until the crickets began their nightly hymn of adoration for the rising moon. Sigyn listened to their cheerful chirping, letting the sound swell inside her like a song. What right had she to be downcast? She had finally achieved what her soul had longed for these past centuries: the love of the prince.

True, the young innocent Sigyn of days gone by could never have foreseen the mayhem he would grow to wreak across the Nine Realms, but then, she was not the same person anymore either. Her stubbornness and temper had caused her to miss out on much joy and happiness. She knew it was unhealthy to imagine what-ifs and might-have-beens, but she couldn’t help wondering that if she had not wasted so much time hating him, perhaps she could have saved him from some of the misery he had suffered over the years. If he had felt truly cherished, would he have been as devastated when he discovered his true heritage? Would he have been so desperate to find a place to belong that he would unleash the fury of the Chitauri army to earn the Midgardians’ fear, if he could not win their love? Of course, she could not blame herself entirely for his mistakes, but the notion that she could have helped him in some small way but hadn’t worried her soul and gnawed at her conscience like a wild beast.

That was all in the past, true, but the conviction that she could still aid in his future rehabilitation was equally as strong. In order to do that, she would have to be with him as much as possible, ever nudging him in the correct direction whenever he started to stray. To that end, a plan had begun to form in her mind. The same cunning that had devised a relatively painless way to dampen his magic two years previously was hard at work divining a new way to rescue the fallen god of mischief from himself whether he felt he needed it or not.

“As I was saying earlier,” Sigyn began anew, and Heimdall snapped back to attention, “the wedding will proceed...with a few minor alterations.”

Heimdall tilted his head a fraction of a millimeter, a gesture so infinitesimal that only the sharpest eyes would detect. “I’m listening.”

A wicked smile played across her pink lips. “Know you where to find the sword Gram?”

“The Sword of Truth?” Heimdall’s mouth twitched in anticipation. “So that’s your game, is it? Aye, ‘tis in the vault with all the other treasures.”

“And have you the rings that will be presented in the ceremonies?”

“Aye, they are concealed upon my person as we speak.”

“Lay them on the floor,” she instructed, and he reached into a worn leather pouch at his waist and placed them gently on the mirrored surface.

Sigyn breathed slowly in through her nose and out through her mouth. She drew on every reserve of mana she possessed and began to weave a seidr spell over the rings. Heimdall watched her in unreserved awe, his eyes darting back and forth between her undulating fingers and the golden bands below which began to glow red-hot against the gilded floor.

“Heaven help the man who dares tangle with you,” he said under his breath, and the corners of her mouth quirked further upward into a tight grin.

“This is only the beginning,” she told him with a hint of pride in her voice. She knelt to retrieve the smaller of the two rings and slipped it onto the third finger of her left hand. The way it looked so natural lying there glowing against the pale creaminess of her skin made her tingle with pleasure. Next, she picked up Loki’s band and stood back up. She placed it loosely on the thumb of her right hand. Immediately, the gold loops transformed into a set of manacles on her wrists with a long, shining, and impossibly thick chain trailing between them.

Heimdall chuckled. “You would literally bind yourself to him? Oh, most brave! Oh, most foolish! Oh, most faithful of all ladies! For how long?”

“For as long as I deem it necessary,” she said primly, although her cheeks pinkened at the thought of how long that might possibly be.

Heimdall bowed yet again. “If Odin were but here, he would surely deign you the goddess of fidelity.”

Sigyn bit gently down on her bottom lip, running her tongue over the back portion of it. “I like it,” she finally said. “Mischief and fidelity: what a marriage we shall make.” She daydreamed about this for a brief moment before shaking her wrists and releasing enough of her reddish energy to undo the cuffs which she hastily removed. As soon as they were off her wrists, they shrunk into a pair of harmless looking wedding rings again, which she handed back to Heimdall. “Now to the vault. I trust you have the key?”  
  
“You have to ask?” he teased with a brief jangle of his belt.

Sigyn beamed. “Then I believe it is time to retrieve my husband’s wedding gift.”

*********************************

The morning of the wedding dawned bright and sunny, but Sigyn’s soul was drenched in a torrent of emotion. She was equal parts anticipation, nervousness, longing, and guilt. The previous night had been almost unbearable. Her mattress had been as soft and warm as ever, but it may as well have been stuffed with rusty nails for all she tossed and turned. When the sunrise finally peered shyly through her window, she threw her covers back and nearly lept to the cold stone floor. She splashed herself with tepid water from the basin on her nightstand in time to see Medica and Astrid enter the room.

“Good morrow, my faithful companions!” she called a little too brightly. The two healers exchanged glances and tittered under their breaths, causing Sigyn to redden for what seemed the millionth time over the past few weeks. She was probably being paranoid, but she had the sneaking suspicion that everyone knew that she was up to something. Either that or they were picturing her wedding night with an unrestrained glee. That made her cheeks warm even more painfully. She fanned herself briefly with her hand before retrieving her wedding garb from the wardrobe. She hoped that after today she would be rid of this ridiculous maiden blush for good.

As the ladies helped her prepare, she took deep cleansing breaths to steady her racing heart. She slipped into her dress of delicate lace and scrutinized herself in the full-length mirror. Her skin was pale against the rosy tint of her gown. Her hair, which she had decided to leave its natural colour, fell in a luxurious black curtain to her waist. She touched her face with a trembling hand. Was she truly prepared to marry this man, this wonderful, frustrating man who had tricked his way back into her good favour? Recalling her oath and the way his astounding kiss had made her feel, she knew the answer was a resounding “yes,” in any language one would care to ask it.

Medica began to tug at her hair with a ferocity that made her wince. “Have care, please,” she begged, tears beading at the corner of her eyes. “I would much prefer it if some of my roots were intact at day’s end.”

Medica loosened her grip only slightly. “Many pardons, Lady Sigyn, but your hair must be tightly bound in order to fit under the ceremonial headpiece.”

Sigyn winced, both from the pain and from the thought of having to wear that monstrosity on her head all day. “I had almost forgotten about that accursed thing. Very well, Lady Medica. Twist away.”

When all was said and done, Sigyn stepped in front of the mirror once more. She barely recognized the woman who stared unblinkingly back at her. Her thick swath of raven hair was nigh invisible underneath an elaborate pink wimple with gigantic protrusions like elephant ears sprouting from either side. Her face was caked in layers of powder and rouge, disguising her naturally fine features with a veneer of more garish beauty. Wide bands of gold adorned her upper arms and slenderer bangles of a finer quality dangled from her wrists. An amaranth cape of smoothest satin rested on her delicate shoulders. Sigyn squinted at her reflection and soon determined what was missing. She carefully untucked a strand of her hair from underneath the cloth covering and arranged it in an attractive curl on her right temple.

“There!” she announced as she pivoted so she could view herself from every angle.

Medica and Astrid exchanged glances and shrugged as though this finishing touch was a tad silly for their liking. Far be it from them to argue with a bride on her wedding day. Sigyn was secretly glad of their silence, for she was wound tighter than a spool of fine silk thread and felt as though the slightest provocation might unravel her.

All too soon, the hour had arrived, and it was time to make the procession down the Rainbow Bridge toward the Observatory. Sigyn had changed the location of the ceremony a week previously when she had engaged Heimdall to perform the ceremony. When she arrived, the groom was not yet present, and for a moment, she was terrified that he might have decided not to go through with this deception after all. However, Skurge, the ex-soldier and ex-janitor who had recently been promoted to Odin’s personal guard was on the scene and assured her that Theoric would be along presently. There were a few trifles he must attend to first. Sigyn was about to inquire what these might be when she came to the conclusion that she would rather not know.

There were certain things that he would be required to answer for, however. For starters, Sigyn wasn’t certain why had waited to woo her until after six months of rule as the faux Odin. He was going to confess to the whole affair one way or the other before the day was over, even if she had to resort to using the Sword of Truth, which she prayed she would not have to do. Depending on how deeply rooted a lie was, Gram could potentially kill the one who told it. Yet the sword had always been intended for Loki, so Sigyn hoped that it would not destroy its new master on the first day of their acquaintance.

She was about to take Heimdall aside for a private discussion when Lady Eir entered the dome. Sigyn gaped in surprise and delight that her superior had been released from her vigil over the Allfather long enough to see her wed. Then, she remembered that Odin was likely not even on Asgard at the moment and his impersonator was a participant in the ceremony. She sucked her lips in and clamped her teeth on them to keep from cursing out her future husband. His father’s whereabouts were another matter she would have to take up with him once the honeymoon was over.

Now all of the guests were in attendance. A small group, to be sure, but that was how Heimdall had convinced her it ought to be. Sigyn felt a pang at her closest friend’s obvious absence, but that could not be helped. Once again, Lorelei had come between Sigyn and her heart’s desire, but she refused to let that temptress win. This was her wedding day, and she would be happy if only to spite that sultry witch and her murderous sister. They could always reenact the ceremony someday and include her beloved Sif. Perhaps she might even be able to convince Loki to let his brother attend. She smiled to imagine what _that_ conversation would be like.

“Everything is in order,” her co-conspirator assured her in a whisper. “Skurge will bring in Gram when it is time.” Sigyn gently squeezed Heimdall’s hand in acknowledgement.

Lady Eir, Astrid, Medica, and Skurge all looked expectantly toward the Rainbow Bridge. Suddenly, Astrid gave a squeal. Sigyn quickly cast a concealment spell over herself as Loki entered in Theoric-form looking as handsome as ever. She made a face that no one could see due to her invisible state. She would dispel that stupid transformation the first chance she got. She wanted to look upon his true visage when she made her vow to love and protect him for all of time.

Loki took his place on the dais in front of the Bifrost switch next to Heimdall. From the expression on his face, one would think he was attending his own funeral rather than his wedding. Sigyn smirked, a little too amused at his discomfort. _Serves you right,_ she thought bitterly, then immediately regretted it. Honestly, she felt more pity at his failed deception than anything else. She was too soft-hearted, perhaps, but then, the wife of such a man would have to have the kindest disposition in all the Nine Realms. Sigyn knew she wasn’t that person, and she probably never would be. But for his sake, she was willing to try. For his sake, she would give up everything he asked. She would do anything to make him happy no matter how much it hurt. And that was how she knew that her love would last. She was committed, for better or for worse, though their marriage be Valhalla or Hel. They were soulmates, and she was determined that nothing, not even death, would part them ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gram - in the original mythology, the sword of Sigurd which he used it slay the dragon Fafnir. In the comics, Fafnir's blood infuses the sword with "truth magic," after which Odin locked it away in his vault for future use by Loki once he became worthy of it. He finally does in _Loki, Agent of Asgard._
> 
> the binding of Loki and Sigyn - Odin chains the two together in the comics after their wedding as punishment for Loki's deception. Sigyn refuses to be loosed from him until she feels he no longer needs her guidance. Since Odin is currently on Midgard, I decided the whole thing would be Sigyn's idea. With her being in on it, her captivity is voluntary and she is no longer being penalised for Loki's misdeeds.
> 
> Sigyn's wedding outfit - the description is lifted straight from the comics. As the MCU did with the coronation scene in _Thor,_ I decided that her ridiculous headpiece which she wears during their entire courtship in the comics would at least appear in this one scene.
> 
> Astrid and Medica - I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but these two are my creations. Astrid is a popular Norse name and Medica is Latin for "healer/doctor," just as Amora is Latin for "love."


	15. We've Only Just Begun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has a miserable night and arrives at his wedding with trepidation. This will surely be a marriage for the ages!

Loki was a wreck. His sleeping habits were abysmal at the best of times, but he had never spent such a miserable night in his entire existence. He realised after a mere fifteen minutes that any attempt at sleep would be beyond futile, so he set out on a moonlit tour of all the places he had taken Sigyn over the past three weeks. After an hour or so of being repeatedly forced into the shadows by late night lovers and other annoying individuals (what were all of these morons doing up so late anyway?), he transformed himself into an owl and took in a bird’s eye view of his kingdom. He silently winged his way over his secret copse, past the wall near the tree swing, through the forest that led to Franang’s Falls, and returned to circle the palace several times for good measure. He could tell from the position of the moon that it was only 3 a.m. Hooting in defeat, he came in for a landing on the windowsill of his brother’s deserted bedchamber. He used his claws and beak to undo the sloppily closed latch and went inside.

Upon entering, Loki was disgusted to note that the room was covered in dust. That should come as no surprise considering that Thor had been absent for nearly a year. Obviously, the servants had felt that keeping the thunder god’s apartments clean was not a priority. He would have to have a word with them as well the next time he took Odin-form. For the meantime, he beat his wings together and sent as many of the motes he could out of the window without getting his feathers dirty.

He surveyed the room briefly. The layout was very similar to his own bedroom, and most of the touches that made it distinctly Thor’s had been taken by their owner to Midgard. He had, however, left the ceremonial helmet that he had worn for his coronation laying on an end table. Loki launched himself from the windowsill and perched between the wings affixed to either side of the headpiece. He dug his talons into the soft metal, taking delight at how easily it scratched.

All of this, everything he had done to win Sigyn, had been because of Thor. When it came right down to it, most of his poor decisions stemmed from the unrestrained envy he felt whenever he thought about Odin’s favourite son. If only his broken heart had been more secure of someone’s--anyone’s--love, he would never have gotten into this fix in the first place. But this was no time for assigning blame. What was done was done, and now he had to figure out how to live with his reckless choices.

If Thor were here right now, he would probably give him one of those infuriating grins. Or worse yet, he would laugh so hard that the entire room would shake. He would say, “I knew this day would come. I told you, and you wouldn’t listen.”

The truth was, he had warned him many times that love would eventually find him. Even on the day of his brother’s tragic “death,” Thor had spoken to Loki about the wonders of requited devotion. They had been on the small stolen aircraft on their way through Svartalfheim. Loki had been at the helm, having just manoeuvered the ship through the hidden tunnels he had discovered two years previously. Thor was sitting on the floor with that human female, Jane, lying on a ledge in the bow of the vessel. She was unconscious, and he was stroking her hair back from her face lovingly.

Loki’s expression soured, and he rolled his eyes. “She’s just a girl, brother. There are so many of them to be found all over the universe. Why this one?”

Thor thought for a moment, which caused his face to screw itself together in a most comical fashion. “I honestly don’t know,” he said in a deep serious tone. “All I know is that I love her more than I have ever loved anyone else. I just want to be with her all the time.”

Loki clenched the controls more tightly, jealousy ripping through him like a knife through paper. “You’re pathetic,” he said with a derisive laugh. There was no way in Hel he would let his brother know that he was hurt about being demoted in his affections.

Thor’s bright blue eyes looked at him appraisingly. “This vague disinterest you have always had with regards to romance. I don’t believe it for a moment. Never have.”

Loki raised a single brow in reply. “Disinterest? You are mistaken. When have I ever shown myself incapable of winning a woman’s affection?”

“Well, there was that bet we made regarding Lady Sigyn…”

“Besides that,” Loki snapped, affronted that his brother should even mention that petty wager. “I was a bit preoccupied at the time if you will recall.”

“With ruining my coronation,” Thor said with a sad shake of his head. “But that is neither here nor there, brother.”

“Let’s make a list then, shall we?” Loki said with a smirk. “There was Amora, then Lorelei, then Amora again…”

“I do not count your multiple conquests as proof of anything other than that you are a man and have certain _urges_ ,” Thor said with a disgusting amount of emphasis on the last word.

“I am not having this conversation with you,” Loki muttered irritably.

“Why not?” Thor protested amiably. “The love of a good woman is the best gift that one can ever receive. And, sooner or later, Loki, someone’s love is going to catch up to you. I only hope that I am present when it does.”

Loki’s mouth twitched in disdain. “Monogamy is vastly overrated. Why have just one beautiful woman when you can have them all?”

Thor sighed as though he were dealing with a petulant child instead of a thousand-year-old godling. “One day, you are going to realise despite that deviously brilliant brain of yours, you are a miserable, lonely person. Dalliances with various females will no longer be enough. Some goddess or other will capture your heart, and that will be the end of that. I know you of old, brother. I know how your obsessive little mind works. And Valhalla help the lady who attracts your attention.”

At that moment, Jane began to stir, and Thor’s focus quickly turned back to her, leaving Loki to stew in his dark thoughts just as he was now. He blinked his owl eyes and looked back out at the night. Thor had been right of, course, damn him. Sigyn’s love had besieged his heart and soul when he had least expected it, leaving him defenseless and unprepared to fight it back. What had once seemed abhorrent to him was now his dearest dream; he actually wanted to marry Sigyn and belong to her alone. The idea of being with her forever made his head swim as though he had drunk another three magnums of vintage wine, intoxicating him completely. His desire to possess her was so strong that the very notion of ever having to live without her was unthinkable.

Yet he knew what he had done was unforgivable. Not merely the trickery he had used to win her love, but his other myriad sins weighed heavily as well. Sigyn had never been a gracious person. He recalled how upset she had become over his theft of her book. But she had pardoned him eventually, if a bit begrudgingly. Was it too much to ask that she overlook his initial ill intentions now that they no longer applied? Loki gave a low hoot, terrified that so much of his hope for the future rested in her slender, beautiful hands.

***********************

Loki managed to fly back into Odin’s window before the sun rose. He transformed back into himself and shook Skurge awake. It was unnerving how much the scoundrel looked like his banished father.

“Amora, is that you?” he murmured drowsily.

“I certainly hope not.” Loki crossed his arms in annoyance. Was there anyone that blonde bimbette hadn’t slept with?

Skurge bolted upright, smacking his thick skull against the headboard. “Ow,” he moaned.

“I need you to do something for me,” he said, beginning to pace back and forth.

“Name it,” Skurge replied. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and gave Loki a much unwanted vision of how the Allfather looked in a nightshift.

He averted his gaze. “I need you to…” He couldn’t believe he was actually saying this. “...to stand up at my wedding.”

Skurge’s countenance fairly glowed. “Oh, brilliant. I love weddings!”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Loki muttered, face firmly planted in palm.

“I will be the best Best Man ever, milord,” he said with great enthusiasm. “You’ll see.”

Loki kept his eyes firmly shut. “You have a uniform of some sort, I suppose.”

“Yes, Lord Loki, of course!” Skurge stood and was about to exit the door.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Loki clucked and waved his hand.

Skurge glowed green then resumed his usual appearance. “Oh, right,” he said with a click of his tongue and a gesture of his finger.

Loki sighed. This was going to be a long day.

*************

Several hours later, he stood on the dais of the Observatory next to Heimdall. Fortunately, despite impending banishment over his head, the Bifrost Guardian and he had reached an uneasy truce. Or at least he hoped so. There was a glint in the older Asgardian’s eye that Loki did not like in the least bit.

Suddenly, Sigyn appeared at the opposite end of the large dome. The wheels on the wall seemed to spin as he looked at her. She looked gorgeous in her lacy gown of dusty rose. Somehow he knew she had selected the colour because he had told her he admired her in it. She had some sort of odd headpiece on her brow, but he barely noticed that while looking into her luminous blue eyes which seemed to sparkle just for him. He noticed a strand of her hair had escaped the awkward head-covering and was pleased to see that it was a lustrous shade of black rather than the blonde she had often wore of late. Her pink cape trailed behind her, following her like an obedient pet. He assumed that there must be others in the room to witness the event, including Lady Eir, whom he had compelled to leave the illusion of Odin that he had left in Skurge’s place. But he had no idea who these people were, nor did he care. He only had eyes for his bride.

He could smell the sweetness of her as she approached, and it took all his self-control not to tear her clothes off and ravish her right then and there. He didn’t deserve her in the slightest bit, but he wanted her so much that he almost couldn’t bear to be so near her without touching her creamy skin. She turned to look at him, and he couldn’t breathe. _So, this is how I die,_ he thought deliriously.

Aloud, he said, “Sigyn, there’s something I need to tell you.”

She merely smiled and placed a finger to her sumptuous red lips. Gods, this was agony.

“Dearly beloved,” Heimdall boomed, and Loki had to resist the urge to cover his ears. “We are gathered here today in the sight of the gods and this company to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”

Sigyn looked shyly up at him from under her long eyelashes. He felt his heart begin to pound relentlessly. Yes, he was definitely dying.

“Before the rite begins,” Heimdall was saying, “Sigyn would like to present her husband with a ceremonial gift.”

The hairs on the back of Loki’s neck began to prickle uncomfortably. What was that idiot babbling about now?

Skurge marched solemnly up the steps of the dais holding a gold sword etched with what appeared to be a representation of flames. Sigyn looked at him expectantly until he reached for his scabbard and drew his standard issue Crimson Hawk weapon. Sigyn took it from him while he removed the gold sword from the cushion in Skurge’s arms. As he affixed it to his waist, Loki felt the blade begin to thrum. _That’s not at all worrying,_ he thought as Sigyn gave the other sword to Skurge, and he went back to his place.

Heimdall cleared his throat, and Loki snapped back to attention. “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To love and to cherish, to hold and to keep, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, til death do you part?”

Loki was frozen in place. He was by turns icy cold and burning hot. Tremors went through him as though he were standing on an active fault line. _What am I doing?_ he thought, and the sword began to hum even louder. _I can’t go through with this! She doesn’t even know who I am!_

Presently, he dared to look at her face. Sigyn’s eyes were shining with such love that he almost couldn’t stand it. Then, she reached over and grasped his hand. Immediately, his trembling ceased and a wave of certainty washed over him. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew she forgave him, for everything. And if she forgave him that must mean…

A gasp came from the other end of the room. There was a sound of uneasy shuffling coming from the guests. What was happening?

“I do,” he said huskily before he lost his nerve completely. He was startled to note that his voice had raised in pitch. He must be more anxious than he thought.

Sigyn looked over at him nervously as though she were expecting the ground to open and swallow him. But nothing happened; well, the opposite of nothing. The sword, which had been pulsing with strange energy a moment before, suddenly fell silent. Both bride and groom heaved a simultaneous sigh of relief, although Loki wasn’t exactly sure what horrible doom he had just averted.

Heimdall nodded gravely. “And do you Sigyn, take Loki to be your lawfully wedded husband…”

Wait a minute, had he heard that correctly? He could have sworn Heimdall just used his real name. Panic flooded him as their officiant rambled on and on until he felt like a dam ready to burst.

“I do.” Sigyn’s voice was as clear as the toll of a bell. She smiled at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Loki smiled back almost shyly. This was not his usual cocky grin, but a real smile, the first genuine one he had displayed in ages. No matter what befell him after today, he would always have this moment of complete joy. Nothing and no one would ever be able to take that away from him, and he would fight to the death anyone who tried.

“Now you will present the rings,” Heimdall announced, with a hint of amusement in his rich voice.

Loki felt a warning pulse in his brain as Skurge returned to the dais, this time with the rings. Every nerve in his body was on high alert, every muscle tensed to make a run for it if he deemed necessary. Sigyn nodded encouragingly, and he cautiously reached for the smaller of the two rings.

Loki took a deep breath and recited the words he had practised for the past three weeks. “Sigyn, I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and commitment to you.” Commitment. There was that word again. What was it that Thor had said that day before his coronation only three years ago? So much had happened in that short span that it may as well have been in another lifetime. He remembered it now: _Seriousness in matters of the heart is measured by commitment._ It seemed that his brother had been right about _everything._ How annoying.

Sigyn seemed to realise that his mind had wandered. She stood there patiently waiting for him to wake from his brief reverie. His eyes finally darted back to hers and he felt transfixed by her soft yet earnest gaze.

“Loki.” She enunciated each syllable with such clarity that he knew he had heard accurately this time. The blood drained from his face as she continued. “I give you this ring as a symbol of my undying love and eternal fidelity to you.”

This was it; the moment he should run. But he couldn’t seem to drag his glance from hers long enough to make good his escape. Before he knew exactly what had happened, the ring was in place, and it was glowing with heat. He scrambled to remove it, and he noticed that his fingers were much longer and more slender than they had been the last time he had looked. He was too late, for the ring seemed to have expanded to the size of a bracelet and was clamped firmly on his wrist. His eyes darted around the room like a rat caught in a trap, but no one else seemed to have noticed what had just occurred.

 _The game is up, dear husband,_ said a familiar voice inside his head. _Don’t waste your energy trying to remove it. I have bound you with the strongest seidr magic in all of Asgard, and only I can release you from it._

Loki sent a frantic thought message back and was surprised when it actually went through. _Why does no one seem to see this wretched set of manacles but me?_

 _Because I cast an invisibility spell on it,_ she explained. _Only those in contact with the rings themselves can see it. By the way, thanks to Gram, our guests can all see you as you truly are._

 _You gave me the Sword of Truth as a wedding present!_ Loki sputtered indignantly. _You might have killed me!_

 _I had faith in you,_ she said, lowering her eyelids bashfully.

 _Well, this is a fine state of affairs,_ Loki thought sulkily. _Although I suppose I_ may _deserve it. A little. After the Destroyer, and that business with the Tesseract, and faking my death to steal Odin’s throne. Not to mention getting your fiance slightly killed..._

 _Do not forget, darling, that I am as chained to you as you are to me._ Her voice was all sweetness, but Loki knew her well enough by now to realise she was deadly serious.

 _I hate you so much right now,_ he said, throwing her own words from Franang’s Falls unceremoniously back in her face.

Sigyn grinned. _Oddly enough, I just don’t believe you._

Heimdall, who had been silent during this entire mental exchange, finally spoke. “Now by the power vested in me by the Allfather, I now pronounce you man and wife. What the gods have joined together, let no one put asunder.”

 _I don’t think we’re going to have much of a problem with that,_ Sigyn said, jingling the chain a little. Loki refused to grace that insolent remark with a reply.

“Well, aren’t you going to kiss her?” Heimdall asked innocently.

It would serve her right if he just stood there and refused. But Sigyn’s eyes were cast down in such an alluring way, that he just couldn’t help himself. Ignoring the slight rattle of the chain as he drew her in, Loki bestowed on her the most passionate kiss that he had ever given in his life. He felt her gasping for breath as he pressed further, her entire body trembling as his mouth merged with hers. A little of his old mischievous spark ignited as he realised what a profound effect he was having on all of her senses. Finally, when the sight of their entwined lips bordered on voyeuristic, he gently pulled away. As she stood there, panting and flushed, he sent an exploratory force of thought into her mind. Her barriers were completely down, and he could sense that she was feeling extremely lightheaded and dizzy. The pleasure centres of her brain were also glowing brighter than an activated Infinity Stone. His lips curled up into a wicked smile.

 _That...was...unbelievable…_ were the only words he could decipher from among her racing thoughts.

 _I know,_ he said smugly. The others in the room were beginning to shift about restlessly as their internal dialogue continued. _Let’s cancel the reception, shall we?_

 _I don’t know if that is wise,_ Sigyn countered after she gathered enough of her wits to speak again. _These people know your secret, after all._

_Can’t I just delete their memories?_

_No!_ Sigyn chided with a violent shake of her head. _This kind of ill judgement is exactly why you need me. I can vouch for the three healers. They are loyal to me. Your secret will be safe once I talk to them._ After _the reception._

 _Are you sure that’s what you want?_ He imbued his telepathic speech with more than a hint of seduction.

An audible moan escaped her lips, causing Heimdall to start. _Damn you, Loki._

_Although I honestly have no idea what I am supposed to do with these handcuffs on…_

Sigyn smirked. _I’m sure you’ll come up with something..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> owls - Like doves, owls are usually monogamous. ;)
> 
> "So this is how I die" - This may or may not be a tasteless reference to way Loki dies in _Infinity War_...  >.> <.<
> 
> the wedding ceremony - Technically, the Asgardians should have a completely different wedding ceremony but they use a traditional Midgard one in the comics, so that's what I went with. Blame Marvel.


	16. Epilogue: The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn is momentarily confused about awakening in a strange room until she sees her new husband reading in bed beside her.
> 
> Trigger Warning: In this scene, Loki and Sigyn are chained together in bed, but this is NOT described in any sort of a bondage sense at all. I wrote it this way because of [this](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/15/03/bf/1503bf580f8f811e0398c6b6d656c8a5.jpg) panel in the original comics. I even made the chain longer. Nothing of much import happens in this scene, so if you feel uncomfortable about reading it, you won't miss anything story-wise.

Sigyn heard the soft humming through the layers of her subconscious as she lay wrapped in the silken sheets like a cocoon. She slowly became aware of an unfamiliar weight on her left thigh, and reached for it, uncertain of what it was. She jerked back in surprise when her fingertips brushed against a slim rectangle of smooth leather, then she relaxed. This wasn’t the first time she had fallen asleep while reading. Gingerly, she tugged the book toward her. She was confused to note that the humming hadn’t stopped as she began to awaken. She froze, her hand curled around the slim tome as she cautiously opened an eyelid. The wall opposite her was an unfamiliar deep green colour. The events of the last twenty-four hours flashed into her mind like a bolt of lightning. She involuntarily pulled the covers over the top of her pale pink chemise and slowly turned her head to the left.

Loki was sitting beside her in the bed, still humming tunelessly, a large book open in his lap. He looked more calm and peaceful than she had ever seen him in her life. His shiny black hair was already slicked back from his pale face, the ends curling in a careless yet infuriatingly attractive manner. His piercing blue-green eyes scanned the words on the page as though he were devouring them for breakfast. The trace of a smile played on his lips. Sigyn wanted to simply lie there and stare at him all day. He was so beautiful, it was all she could do not to burst into tears.

“Good morning,” he said in that low baritone voice that had always made her feel breathless. He didn’t even turn to look at her, but flipped the page of his book and continued to read. “Although, I suppose I _should_ say ‘Good afternoon.’”

Sigyn bolted upright at this declaration. “Afternoon?” she cried in dismay. She looked straight ahead of her out of the large window across the room past the foot of the bed. The sun did look unusually high in the sky.

Loki chuckled and took her hand in one of his. A light clinking sound reminded her that they were still chained together. “Relax, darling. It’s only a quarter past ten.”

Sigyn was about to ream him for his tasteless joke, but considering they were technically on their honeymoon, she let it slide....this time. Ten o’ clock already? Truthfully, she usually began her day with the sun. However, she’d had a dreadful time of it the night before her wedding. And last night had been...tiring to say the least. She smiled to herself until her eyes fell on the book she had found earlier. _Cyrano de Bergerac._ Of course.

“If you think for one minute that you are off the hook for this,” she said, swatting him playfully with the small hardcover before tossing it unceremoniously on the divan across from her. “Think again, my slippery salmon.”

Loki tried his best but he couldn’t stifle the laughter rumbling in his chest. “Salmon? Really? I am _highly_ affronted, I can assure you. I merely wished to afford you the opportunity of enjoying some leisurely reading time with your new husband. Am I to be punished for my good deeds as well as my failings?”

Sigyn would have pressed the subject further, but she decided she was in too good of a mood. The meadowlarks chirping outside their window seemed to share her joy. The gentle breeze that tickled the leaves on the crowns of the nearby trees was in a similar humour.

“So, my lovely bride,” Loki said, closing the book which she was delighted to see was his First Folio. “How long exactly were you planning on keeping this encumbrance intact?” He rattled the chain for emphasis.

“Well,” she said, steepling her fingers mischievously. “That all depends on how you answer this next question.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Ask away, my wicked warden.”

Sigyn hesitated a second before inquiring. “Where did you acquire such a precious and rare book? You didn’t steal it, did you?”

He sighed dramatically as though she had just ripped his heart from his chest and stabbed it with Gram for good measure. “If you must know,” he began indignantly, “the Bard was one of my closest friends back in the day.” He gestured to the book as he lovingly placed it on his nightstand. “As you may or may not be aware, the First Folio was published posthumously. This copy predates it by a number of years. It was, in matter of fact, given to me by the great man himself on his deathbed. It is one-of-a-kind and signed by the man himself.”

She should probably have been more impressed by this story. Instead, she dissolved into giggles.

“What is so amusing, my dear?” he asked, arms crossed firmly against his bare chest.

“‘Tis sort of a First First Folio then,” she said after she had managed to calm herself.

“‘As you like it,’” he quipped in bemusement, and she began to laugh all over again.

“I can’t believe you were actually friends with a Midgardian,” she finally finished, her tone still full of mirth.

He scoffed. “Sigyn, please. We’ve been through this already. Shakespeare clearly fell off the Bifrost and couldn’t get back to Asgard.” He muttered something to himself which sounded like, “Friends with a mere human, as if.”

Sigyn’s face suddenly became solemn. She squinted at him for a moment as though that would change her perspective. “You are not in the least bit what people think you are, do you know that?”

“And what do people think I am?” he asked, leaning so close that her pulse began to pound.

“A villain, I suppose,” she mused aloud. “Or at least a fallen prince who somehow managed to be rid of his father and steal his throne.” She gave him what she hoped was a look of silent judgment.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Loki said, gazing directly back at her with those brilliant ocean eyes. “Odin is perfectly fine. Well, as fine as one can be when stranded in an assisted living facility on Midgard.”

Sigyn hadn’t the slightest idea what an “assisted living facility” was, but the intensity of his gaze compelled her to nod her head in assent. “I believe you,” she whispered.

If she had to describe the expression on his face, she would probably choose the word “stunned.” “You do?” he asked hoarsely, his voice thick with emotion.

“Of course,” she said, stroking his face with her unmanacled hand. “As I told you during our wedding, I have faith in you. In fact, I trust you so completely that I will never again erect my mental barrier while we are in this bed.”

Loki couldn’t hide a smirk. “Is that why you sicced the Sword of Truth on me yesterday?”

“I apologise for that,” she said softly, “but I had to be sure. You _did_ spend the better part of the last three weeks lying to me.”

The way he bristled at this comment was almost comical. “I never actually _lied_. I just wore a disguise the entire time, that’s all.”

With her eidetic memory, Sigyn hastily replayed every conversation they had shared while he was parading around as Theoric. She was dismayed to discover that he was right. Very few of the things he had said to her were technically untrue. “Semantics again,” she muttered, and he grinned widely back at her.

“Like with your vow?” he said mockingly.

“I kept my vow,” she retorted. “For six hundred years I kept it.” She paused for a moment, deep in thought. “In sooth, I likely only took that ridiculous oath out of loyalty to you. Even after your betrayal with Lorelei, I never wanted to kiss anyone but you, not even my fiance.” She turned to him in wonder. “Is not that strange?”

She could tell that her confession pleased him, but he ignored it for the present. “Lorelei was bewitched by a love enchantment that day,” he said. “Although, I assure you I had no idea at the time. I admit, I could have fought her when she threw herself at me, but it just seemed like too much effort. Then, the bloody siren mind controlled me and erased my memories so I didn’t remember that you had even arrived. For six hundred years, I thought you stood me up.”

Tears burned hot behind Sigyn’s eyes, and she blinked them away. “All the time we wasted, you and I.”

He brushed away a stray salt drop with his thumb. “Do not fret, my love. We are still young. We have all the time in the world.”

They looked at each other, somehow both knowing that his words were not quite true. But for now, they could pretend. For a little while, they could be completely happy.

“About these chains,” he began, gesturing at the handcuff on his wrist.

“Give it three weeks,” she said, a glint of triumph in her eyes. “Then, ask me again.”

The slight flush on his pale cheeks let her know that he understood the significance of the time frame. “Three weeks seems awfully short for a honeymoon,” he said, mischief shining from every corner of his face.

“Behave yourself,” she chided, “or I may have to regale you with a reenactment of _Lysistrata_.”

“I’d love to see you try.” He traced her exposed clavicle with the soft pad of his right index finger, causing her to gasp. Cupping her chin with his left hand, he drew her lips toward his. The links that hung from his manacled wrist lightly brushed against her scantily clad breast.

“The...curtain...is...closing,” she managed to get out between breath-stealing kisses.

“The reviews were terrible anyway,” he whispered. His hands wandered beneath the sheets, eliciting moans of pleasure from her at intervals. “I can show you a much better performance.”

“Don’t you ever shut up?” she asked as she pulled him on top of her. She eagerly pressed her mouth to his.

 _No, not really,_ he said inside her head. His famed silvertongue coaxed its way between her lips, and she swore she would never get enough of the taste of him.

 _Loki, please,_ was her last coherent thought.

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an unfamiliar deep green colour - In case it is unclear, Loki took Sigyn to bed in his own room and not Odin's. Who wants to spend their wedding night in their parents' bed? *shudder*
> 
> "my slippery salmon" - Another reference to the myth where Loki disguises himself as a salmon to hide from Odin.
> 
> "I never actually lied" - while a slight exaggeration, I did try my best to make sure that Loki didn't outright lie to Sigyn for the obvious reason that no healthy relationship can be built on blatant dishonesty. If you reread the fic, you will notice that most of the time he is technically telling the truth. As I have mentioned previously, Loki always does better with his deceptions if he uses twisted versions of reality, such as in the last scene of _The Dark World_ when he tells Thor he cannot give him Odin's blessing. Of course he can't, because he's not Odin. :)
> 
> Lysistrata - is an ancient Greek comedy play by Aristophanes which tells of a woman's mission to end a war by denying all the men of the land any sex, which was the only thing they truly and deeply desired.

**Author's Note:**

> General notes on the fic:  
> If you don't like this story, blame Neil Gaiman. If it hadn't been for his recent novel, _Norse Mythology_ , I would never have know of Sigyn's existence. Being a longtime Loki fangirl, discovering that he actually had a wife was intriguing. I read Gaiman's novel in early 2017 (Goodreads informed me that I finished exactly a year ago today. How's that for irony?) and then forgot about Sigyn's existence until I was playing Town of Salem in late December. I ended up playing with someone called Loki. I remembered he had a wife, at least in the mythology. I looked up her name (which I had to do several times over the next few days until it stuck) and called myself "Sigyn." After I was done playing for the night, I googled "Sigyn Marvel" as a joke and was astonished to discover that she existed in the comics as well. For the next few weeks, I became obsessed with finding out everything there was to know about her, which sadly, isn't much. From what I gather, her entire personality in the comics consists of her initial hatred for Loki and her steadfast devotion to him after their marriage. Not surprising, since that's all you get about her in the original Norse tales as well. Next, I turned to fanfiction for my research. I struck gold on the first fic I discovered. It was a series by voiceoftime called Loyalty and Mischief. I stayed up far too late reading it. When I was done, I realized that although I loved the story, I would have written it differently, particularly Sigyn's character. While I was thrilled that she was given more depth, I wondered what it would be like if I combined her personality from the comics with some of the traits she exhibited in the fic, adding more of my own of course. I did more research and found out about her engagement to Theoric and Loki's deception. Her sudden love for Loki after their marriage made even less sense. Now, I had to write and fix it. What if she didn't really know Theoric that well and that's why she wrote off his change in personality so easily? What if she didn't actually hate Loki but was antagonistic toward him because she'd had feelings for him once and was scorned? What if Loki wooed Sigyn through Theoric, but she actually fell in love with Loki himself ala _Cyrano de Bergerac_ or "The Courtship of Miles Standish"? (If you aren't familiar with those works, please read them.) With so many unanswered questions, I had to write this fic.


End file.
